


Eclipse

by tessykins



Series: Eclipse [1]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-13
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the planet Onale VII, in the city of Manha, Peter Petrelli gains an extraordinary ability and finds himself on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  


Peter starts awake. He lays in his bed, gasping and rimed with sweat. He lifts a hand, gestures to activate his skinsuit; feels the reassuring tingle as wires warm beneath his skin, connecting his brain directly to the Net. He tilts his head towards the wall screen. Sixth hour. Peter sighs. He’ll never get to sleep, not after that dream.

That dream… The memory of it is slipping away even as he clings to it. Nathan was there…He’d been unexpectedly promoted, yes… That was right. Nathan again, soft and sympathetic, telling him he’s insane. A tall, bearded stranger shoving him into the wall of a derelict building. Laser fire. His mother, smirking and triumphant.

Peter shakes his head and drags himself out of bed. Ducks into the sonic shower, flesh forming goosepimples in the chill. He shrugs into his loose pants and an undershirt, leaving off the jacket for now. The door slides open at his command and he pads down the hallway to the kitchen. He smiles indulgently at the sleek new food prep unit—Mother had decided to treat herself recently—and the brand new model was so much faster and efficient than the earlier type.

Peter opens a cupboard and pulls down a box of drypacked breakfasts. He stares out the window as he flicks through the meal packages. He can see most of the city of Manha from the high apartment he shares with his brother. The parks and ordered streets of the residential section are visible around their building. Past them are the taller corporation buildings stretching to the ambient light of the dome. Even further is the dome, and he can dimly see the rise of barren mountains to the west, as well as a little of the edge of the city Below.

He pulls out a meal pack, glancing at the familiar Babylon Corporation stamp. Peter frowns slightly. He remembers once, as a child, traveling to the Babylon Corp’s central planet, Jericho. Jericho is only a few light years from Onale VII, barely a jaunt. It was a large farm planet, mild and pastoral. Rolling green fields as far as the eye could see. So beautiful, and so different from the cultivated elegance On High. If he had the choice, Peter would opt for something a little wilder, not restricted by the dome. He’s lived his whole life inside the dome—he wonders if it might be better outside.

With a self-deprecating smile, Peter shakes off his gloomy thoughts. They’ll do him no good—his life is inside the dome, and he’s more than happy with it. He tosses a meal pack into the prep unit and marvels. It takes only four seconds for the food to come out piping hot. He bites into the near scalding danish, the crust flaking away from chunks of meat and cheese and egg. Peter grins. Real eggs, from real chickens—a ridiculous expense, but so delicious it’s almost worth it.

He’s licking the crumbs off his fingers as Nathan comes out of the study. Peter’s glad to see that his brother is smiling again. He’d recently dissolved his term contract with his wife Heidi, and the break hadn’t been a happy one. Anything that made Nathan smile again was a good thing.

Nathan struts over and leans against the counter beside Peter. Peter raises an eyebrow. “Well? Why are you so giddy this morning?”

Nathan smirks. “You’re looking at the new manager of Helix Company operations on Onale VII.”

“Nathan, that’s fantastic!” Peter laughs and flings his arms around his brother. His smile drains after a moment. His dream this morning… He’d seen this, known it was going to happen. But that isn’t even possible! It was just a dream, something his sleeping mind threw up from his subconscious. Nothing more.

He plasters a smile across his face and turns to Nathan. “We’ll go out tonight and celebrate, all right? You and your fancy new job, me and my acceptance into medical school.”

Nathan scoffs. “You could do so much more with your life, Peter. Why would you want to waste your time at Green Moon Medical when you could easily be climbing the ladder at Helix?” Peter scowls, gearing up for a worn and familiar argument.

And then Nathan does something completely unexpected. He laughs.

Nathan grasps his brother’s shoulders. “I know this is what you want to do with your life, Pete. I’m not going to stop you.” Nathan smirks. “That’s why I found you a surgeon to upgrade your skinsuit.”

Peter steps back with a frown. “You know I can’t afford to optimize my system right now.” He sighs. Even with his trust fund, he wouldn’t even be able to afford the in-family price for his own Company. Which meant another year of saving and working for his brother.

“I know. That’s why I found you a surgeon from Below. He works at a special rate for me.”

Peter gives his brother a blinding smile and crushes him in an enthusiastic hug. That his brother, who keeps his reputation so scrupulously clean, would deal with a black-market surgeon for him means almost more than he can say. “Thank you so much!”

Nathan sighs and holds his brother close for a moment, then pushes him away. “Go on. You have an appointment at noon.”

\---

The boy is splayed unconscious on the operating table. Skin pale against white sheets, hair a dark slash. The back of his neck is laid even more bare, skin pulled back to reveal the white of bone, the rust of muscle and the bright rainbows of wires tangled throughout. Vivid colors strange against gore and blood.

The surgeon turns, gloved hands and scrubs a vibrant splash like a butcher’s apron. The man glances back at the chip-laced board at the base of the boy’s skull. “I installed the extra program like you asked,” the doctor blurts. “I’ll be finished in another hour and he’ll be back online in less than a day.”

The man in the horn-rimmed glasses nods and smiles.

\---

Peter steps out of the surgeon’s office into the muted sunlight of the dome, rubbing at the patch of nuskin sealing his incision. He hates surgery; being cut open, being vulnerable like that. He bumps into a man on his way out the door, mumbling an apology. The back of his neck prickles; he’s sure the man is watching him go.

Peter shakes off the uncomfortable feeling as he enters the lift of the nearest monorail platform. He drops down on one of the benches and gazes up at the swirling patterns of glazed glass that make up the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a small, pixie-like woman sitting on one of the other benches and gesturing emphatically. He looks up, but the dark-haired woman is only invoking her skinsuit. Interacting with the Net, and Peter can’t help the stab of jealousy. He hates being forcibly disconnected like this, won’t be able to use his skinsuit for at least a few more hours. The woman looks in his direction, but her huge dark eyes pass over him without really seeing.

Still, Peter is glad when the train pulls up to the platform and the dark haired woman is left behind.

He sits besides a petite blonde with electric blue eyes and her serious-looking dark-skinned friend. The blonde immediately strikes up a conversation with him, ignoring her friend. The woman seems nice enough, but Peter’s uncomfortable with her apparent fascination with touching him. The man is silent; he only watches Peter intently. At his stop, Peter is relieved to leave the strange couple behind. The car’s hatch jumps open unexpectedly at his touch as he exits.

Peter shares a lift down with a beautiful redheaded woman, who smiles flirtatiously but says nothing. As he steps out of the lift, a strangled noise rises behind him. He glances over his shoulder; the redhead is staring at him in shock, or more precisely at his feet. Peter looks down.

His feet are hovering several inches about the ground.

However, as soon as Peter realizes that he is floating, he falls the few inches to the ground and stumbles out into the roadway, leaving the shocked woman behind. He hurries home, feeling all the while the stares of those around him. He meets the eyes of several people on the way. Their faces are all perfectly normal, but Peter can’t shake the feeling that they mean him harm. He’s being watched, he knows it.

There is a man standing outside the entrance of his building. Ordinary looking, he is wearing old fashioned data-specs and seemingly absorbed in the information on the glasses. But then the man shifts and Peter can see the man’s eyes through the glass. The man’s eyes are locked on him.

Peter does the only thing he can: he runs.


	2. Chapter 2

Nathan’s office is glass and steel, looking out over a glass and steel empire. Nathan looks up, startled, as soon as Peter bursts through the door. Nathan climbs to his feet, starts to speak, but Peter cuts him off. “I need your help, Nathan.”

Something in his voice must worry his brother, because Nathan immediately comes around the desk and grasps his brother’s shoulder. “Are you all right, Pete? You don’t look so good.” Peter shakes his head. He knows what he must look like; flushed and unkempt from running all the way here. Nathan pales. “Did something go wrong with the surgery?”

“Yes. No.” Peter shrugs off Nathan’s reassuring hand and paces to the window. “I don’t know.”

“What’s going on, Peter? You’re starting to scare me.”

Peter takes a deep breath, “I’m being followed.”

Relief blooms across Nathan’s face and he smiles. “You’re just being paranoid, Pete. You’re just feeling disconnection anxiety.”

“I’m not imagining things.” Peter scowls. “There’s more…” He gulps. “I think I can fly, Nathan.”

The relief drains from Nathan’s face as quickly as it came. “Peter,” he says, a frown creasing his forehead. He grabs Peter’s shoulders again, his grip almost painful. “Don’t do this to me. You know how Dad got towards the end. The delusions—“

Peter whips away, snaps, “I’m not crazy, Nathan.”

“No, of course you’re not. The stress you’ve been under recently, and the major surgery…It was just too much for you. But we’ll get you anything you need, the very best help.”

Peter stares out the window; there’s a glint of light out on the street. Sunlight on a pair of horn-rimmed data-specs? In a flash of intuition, Peter knows that this will tear his family apart. He’s in danger and every moment he spends On High puts his family and friends in danger. He can’t stay.

He looks back at his brother; Nathan is still talking, concern in his eyes. Peter smiles wistfully, and cuts him off. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I have to go.” He walks out of the office, Nathan’s stammered exclamations following him as he leaves the building.

Peter looks around, and heads for the nearest monorail platform. With a last look at his familiar surroundings, he heads Below.

\---

The train sways on its track as it exits the dome. Peter squints in the sudden burst of bright sunlight through the grubby windows. Outside of the dome, everything is brighter, sharper. He stares out the window, marveling at the buildings and streets around him. The sun is harsh, and everything is worn and dirty, but it seems so much more real than the muted perfection On High.

The skyscrapers streaking past slow to a halt as more people enter the car from one building’s platform. They stare at Peter, his luxurious clothes and long hair clearly out of place. They are midlevel workers, class-conscious and unwilling to meet his eyes. They sit as far as possible from him, speaking quietly together.

Peter looks down at his hands in his lap, feeling disappointed. He’s a stranger, a too-rich invader; he needs to remember that he isn’t welcome here.

But he can’t go home, not anymore. Not with the men following him, not with the…things…his body is doing. He’ll be safest Deep Below, away from the emerging catastrophe threatening himself and his family. Peter sets his jaw and stiffens his resolve. He has to do this; it’s the only way.

It’s full dark when the train pulls up to the final station. Peter, staring out the window and moping, jerks out of his stupor at the soft hiss of the doors opening. The rest of the people on the train give him odd looks as they leave. Peter stumbles to his feet and clambers out of the car.

Peter swears that he is stepping into another world. Everything is different here than On High. It’s like there was a whole alien world tucked beneath the surface of the one he knows. Peter smiles. He can’t wait to explore it. The car disgorges its passengers directly on to the street, there is no sheltered station building like On High. A creeping thought occurs to Peter. Are they even able to afford such things Below? The street is brightly lit, bioluminescent lights hung from strings along the wide sides of the avenue. Brightly colored neon tubing outlines doors, windows, and busy market stalls.

Peter is shocked at the amount of activity on the streets. By now, everyone On High is at home, if not asleep. Here, things seem to just be getting started. People are buying and selling in the little ramshackle stalls, eating food from various food stands, talking animatedly, and walking. It is strange and completely overwhelming.

Peter stands transfixed on the street corner, confused by the roiling chaos of people and the unfamiliar signs. He startles as a man suddenly leans against the wall beside him. The man is wearing a rumpled mish mash of clothing in dreary colors and his hair and beard are trimmed close to his head. The man, face worn and eyes sharp, looks Peter over, lingering on the quality of his clothes. “You on the pull, friend?” The harsh accent of Below twists the words, hardens them.

Peter cocks his head. “On the what?”

The man chuckles. “Some don’t take to kindly to that sort o’ thing down here. Silly young things lordin’ it over the poor and unwashed masses. But me, I don’t mind so much.” Peter stiffens as he feels the pressure of what can only be a gun against his side. The man’s grin widens. “Now you and me, we’re gonna step around into that alley there. Nice and quiet so’s not to alarm anyone.” The gun jabs Peter in the side and he starts to walk.

They enter a dank, dirty alley and the man shoves Peter against a damp wall. He smiles as three other figures loom out of the oppressive shadows. “Now if you give us all your money like a good little boy, we might just let you go and run home cryin’ to your Company. If you try to put up a fight, well…there’s always the meat market.” The man leers, looking Peter up and down. “Pretty thing like you, you should do well.” Peter suddenly finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun, the pilot light of the laser glowing in its depth.

Staring into that dark cylinder, Peter panics. He can’t die down here, not like this. Even what they’re hinting at, the meat market, terrifies him deep-down. That fate is worse than dying. He puts his hands up and _shoves_ with everything in him, body and mind. He shuts his eyes, waiting for the thunder of the gun.

His eyes snap open as he hears the man in front of him grunt. He watches, stunned, as all four men go flying backwards, propelled by invisible force. The leader’s gun goes off as his hand twitches, scorching a path mere inches from Peter’s head. There is a sickening crunch as they slam into the wall. Not one of the four men move as they slump to the ground.

Peter shoves his fist into his month to keep from screaming. Not again, not again, this can’t be happening. He spins and runs for the mouth of the alley.

He stumbles and slams into the arms of another person. A small man, clean-shaven wearing a long black ponytail. His eyes are colder and harder than those of the men lying, possibly dead, behind him. The man stares at him. When he speaks, his accent is off-world, unfamiliar. “I saw what you did back there. You’re in grave danger.”

Peter backs away from him. What if he’s one of the men who were following him before? “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“My name is Hiro Nakamura. I can protect you.”

The man watches him impassively as Peter glances around, looking for help. “I can’t trust you.”

“No, you can’t,” Nakamura admits. “But this is your best chance. You can come with me or you can wait for Helix to catch up with you.”

Peter swallows the bile creeping up his throat. “Where are you going to take me?”

Nakamura shrugs one shoulder. “Somewhere I can keep you safe. It’s best if you don’t know the exact location.”

They head back out on to the main streets, following twists and turns in the brightly lit avenues into dimmer alleys. They stop only once, at a street console. Peter watches silently at Nakamura activates his skinsuit and makes a call. It’s text-only and Peter can’t see what he was composing. He wonders if Nakamura is turning him in, informing Helix where he is. But he has no choice. He has to go with Nakamura if he wants to live. He can’t find his way in the streets Deep Below and the attempted mugging had shown him what easy pickings he is for predators down here. Not to mention the instability of his new abilities. He should go some place where he can’t endanger too many people.

Nakamura looks up at him, as if reading his thoughts. “I was contacting a friend of mine. He’s a mercenary. He’ll protect you when I can’t.” Peter was taken aback. That seemed like a lot of trouble to go to for him. Nakamura stops in front of a ramshackle old building, weather-worn and decrepit. He nods at the door and Peter follows him inside.

Peter is shocked at the inside of the building. He is used to houses made of glass and steel. This—this oversized shack is made of wood and plaster and scrap metal. They climb up a rickety staircase and Peter holds his breath, expecting at any moment to plunge to his death.

The hallway above is even more of a surprise. Every millimeter of space is used. Rooms are cheaply partitioned with any material at hand. Someone has even taken a laser-cutter to the walls to open up more doorways.

Peter follows Nakamura to a corner apartment. It’s small, just two rooms—a common room with a food prep unit and table and chairs, and a bedroom, the floor covered with at least four sleeping palettes. The kitchen is obviously where Nakamura works; there are old-fashioned paper notes and data pads scattered across the table. Looking out the apartment’s windows, Peter can see both the street in front of the building and an outside stairway on the side. He looks back at the doorway; reinforced plasteel with encryption locks. Peter smothers a smile. His new protector is obviously paranoid.

Nakamura seats him at the table, clearing a section of notes. He sits in one of the other chairs and fixes Peter with an earnest expression. “I know that you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I really do want to help you.” The look on the man’s face is so truthful that Peter can’t help but be swayed a little.

“Thank you, Mr. Nakamura. For all that you’re doing for me.”

The man cracks his veneer of coldness to allow a tiny smile. “Call me Hiro.”


	3. Chapter 3

A set of footsteps pounds in the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. A tall, dark shape fills the doorway. “What’s so goddamn important, Nakamura, that ya make me come all the way out here,” the shape—man—snarls, voice rough with the harsh accent of Below. The man freezes when he sees Peter, then whips out a laser pistol. Peter goes still and raises his hands.

“Claude.” Hiro stalks in from the other room, his voice calm and lacking any noticeable inflection. Hiro reaches out to the other man, then stops and withdraws—the first real human gesture Peter’s seen this unnaturally smooth man make. “Put that down. Peter is no threat to us.”

The man—Claude—glances at Hiro, then slowly re-holsters the pistol. Peter can see the man’s large hand twitch towards the gun as soon as Peter moves his hands. “He needs our help,” Hiro continues.

Claude snorts. “Certainly looks it, don’t he?” Peter bristles, but only glares.

Hiro lets a tiny sigh escape. He takes a seat at the table next to Peter. Claude remains standing, but rests a broad shoulder against the wall. “He has much the same problem as you once did, Claude. Helix.”

“Yeah?” Claude leans forward, gaze flicking over Peter assessingly. Peter returns the look. He is nothing more than a tall, grubby man in scuffed boots and the worn mishmash of clothing that is the unofficial uniform of those Deep Below. A disordered mess of a man with sandblasted hair and body in shades of grey. Radiation blue eyes flick back to Hiro. “And how is that my problem now?”

“I need someone to protect him for now. To keep him hidden. And there’s no one better than you.”

Claude’s face twists, a short bark of angry laughter. “Ya brought me all the way here to tell me ya want me to baby-sit some silver-spoon Company son down from On High? Fuck you, Nakamura.” The man pushes off from the wall and starts to stalk out.

“I need your help.” The tone in Hiro’s voice stops the man in his tracks. “You’re the only one, Claude.”

Claude half-turns, slants a speculative glance over his shoulder. “Yer fightin’ a war that don’t exist, Nakamura.”

Hiro looks at his hands. Hollow despair flits across his smooth features. “It is my war to fight. It is his war.”

Claude sighs and his body sags. Peter is sure he has missed the bulk of the interaction. It is yet another conversation moving beneath the skin of the one he hears. “Fine. How long did ya want me to take him?”

Peter chokes down a spark of irritation at being left out of decisions that will change his life, maybe even save it. But then again, he doesn’t have much choice. And this man, this Claude, looks more than competent. Claude is his best—and probably only—hope. “Thank you,” he pipes up, softly.

Claude grins, cruelty twisting the sides of his lips. “You’ll want to rethink that later.” He looks Peter up and down again. “Ya got any extra clothes around, Nakamura? Walkin’ around like this, he’ll be down in the meat market before you know it.” Peter flinches and stares at the floor, feeling an echo of the fear he felt when he was attacked. Claude looks at him curiously.

Hiro looks up listlessly, emerging from his fugue. He had been sitting motionlessly, hands clenched and eyes focused on nothing. “Hmm?”

“Clothes, Hiro,” Claude prompts, voice surprisingly gentle. Hiro shakes his head, allows a tiny smile and retreats into the other room. He comes back with a pile of mismatched clothing, all patched and dull, and all standard wear for Below.

Claude shoves Peter into the bedroom and, taking the clothes from Hiro, tosses the bundle to him. Peter catches most of it, while some pieces of cloth flutter to the floor. “Get changed.”

Peter turns surprised eyes to his so-called protector, aghast. “What, now?”

Claude leers. “Ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

With a resigned sigh, Peter starts to slide off his jacket. He’s gratified to see that Claude does turn his back.

Several minutes and an impromptu lesson from Claude on the many uses of buckles, Peter emerges from the bedroom looking like anyone else Below. Well, almost. His hair is a little longer than is fashionable down here, and he’s a bit too clean to fit in. He frowns at the scrape of the rough, heavy fabric on skin more accustomed to smooth silks and linens.

Claude shakes his head in resignation. “You’ll do for now. Come on, we’re going out.” He looks back at Hiro, who hasn’t moved from the table. “Should I get some food?” Hiro shrugs. “Enough for Hana, too?”

Hiro finally smiles. “I’m fine. And yes, enough for Hana.”

Peter frowns. “Who’s Hana?” He’s in over his head, helpless, and hating the feeling. And worse, no one will tell him what’s going on.

“She’s a hacker.” Claude grabs his shoulder and steers him towards the door. “Now shut up and come on.” Peter starts to protest, then closes his mouth and follows the man out of the building.

Claude is waiting impatiently in the crowded street when Peter descends. The man rolls his eyes and starts off down the street. Peter struggles to follow him through the press of bodies, all too aware of how noticeable he is, not quite fitting in, and how vulnerable. Claude stalks along just in front of him, and that alleviates the feeling a little, but Peter still casts nervous glances at the crowd. It’s loud, everyone trying to talk over each other; merchants advertising by the expedient of yelling. Busy and confusing and nothing like Peter’s used to.

Claude turns into a tiny doorway lit with red neon. He pulls Peter up several steps into a cramped, dingy storefront. Peter sags against the wall, relieved to be out of the unfamiliar crush of human life. He longs for the neat clean world On High, filled with smiling faces. Faces that did not shutter when he passed, or twist with scowls of hate.

The fat, grizzled man looks up from his datapad in irritation. Claude meets him scowl for scowl. “Ni hao,” the man grudgingly offers.

As Claude repeats the greeting, Peter stares at Claude in surprise. Claude glares back at him and quickly shuts his mouth. Apparently off-world languages are much more common Below than On High. Especially like Ban’alee, which is considered to be a very low-class language. Corrupted and loose, barely above slang. Claude speaks it fluently. Somehow, Peter isn’t that surprised; his protector seems to be a bit low-class himself.

“You mei yin gui? Wo jiao Darian Fawkes.” The fat man sighs and climbs down of his chair, disappearing into the back of the shop. After a few minutes of muted thumps, the man returns, laboring under the weight of a large black bag. He hands it over reluctantly. Claude checks the contents quickly, then hefts the bag on to his shoulder with a smile. He slips the man a cash card, “Xiexie.” Peter is surprised to see no fingerprints or electronic verification as Claude turns around.

He grabs Peter’s shoulder again and spins him around, pushing him out the door. Peter stumbles down the steps and out into the street. Claude follows more sedately. They walk in silence for a few minutes, Peter sneaking barely hidden glances at the other man. Claude finally stops, forcing the human traffic to flow around them. “What?” he snarls.

Peter tries not to flinch. “It’s just… back there, you…er, I mean, we don’t speak any other languages On High.”

Claude laughs, contempt giving it a harsh edge. “This is Ban’a quarter, kid. Everyone here is immigrants from Ban’alee. Try not to look so surprised. Quiet, obedient, willing to work for shit wages; they make the perfect the work force.” He smirks at Peter’s expression. “You people On High. Don’t realize how much work goes into this city. Isolated up there in your shiny dome.” He scowls. Peter bites back his retort; this is obviously not a subject on which he wants to go up against Claude.

Peter ducks his head and Claude stares at him for a moment, a strange expression on his face. Claude shakes his head, looking away. “Come on, Pete. Let’s get some food.”

Claude walks on, pulling a confused Peter in his wake. They stop at a cart smelling of grease and processed food. Claude spills out more words in Ban’alee. A small middle-aged woman smiles at then from within the cart and boxes up several servings of…something, packing them in a large bag. Claude hands over another cash card with thanks. Peter looks around and notices that everyone else was paying with cash cards as well. His forehead wrinkles. On High, everyone just uses the banking option wired into their skinsuit, tied into the nearest node and transferred credits. He’d never seen credit cards inside the dome. This way was so… primitive.

Claude leads him down a tiny cul-de-sac and into a dirty little courtyard. There were several benches covered in graffiti and probably disgustingly unclean. Claude leans against a wall and digs into the bag of food. He tosses a small carton to Peter and pulls out one himself. About a dozen other people were clustered around, all eating out of greasy paper cartons. Peter leans against the wall next to Claude, and peels off the foil top of the carton. He inhales the rich scent of the noodles inside. They were covered in a thick brown sauce and swirling amongst bits of meat. Claude hands him a set of chopsticks—Peter stares at them, it’s been years since he used then. He digs into the meal, the habit of sticks quickly coming back to him.

He bites a mouthful of noodles and nearly chokes. The explosion of hot spices across his tongue is unlike anything he’s ever tasted before. Claude grins maniacally and slaps him on the back. “Trust me, Peter, you’d rather burn your tongue than discover what this stuff really tastes like. Can’t afford anything good down here. This shit’s all reprocessed.”

Peter stared horrified at his food. “But…Jericho’s only four light years away! That’s nothing!”

Claude snorts. “People down here can barely pay for this. That’s reality. Not everyone can afford to live up in your ivory tower and eat grown food. This is real life down here, not the crap the Corp’s have been feeding ya all yer life.”

Peter lowers his head. Claude stares at him for a moment, then turns back to his meal.

Peter doesn’t attempt to make any more conversation as they walk back to Hiro’s apartment. It is a short walk, but Claude makes one more stop. He stops by a large screen set directly into the street wall. News media is flashing across the main screen, while the bottom scrolls rates and prices. Peter’s forehead furrows until he realizes that it is a community node, a net connection available to anyone willing to pay the fee. He’d heard that there were few nodes Below, but he never expected it to be quite this bad. A tiny console rests beneath the screen and Claude pulls out a long white cord. Peter watches in confusion as the man attaches the cord to the jack behind his ear. He waits patiently while Claude conducts his business, then pulls the cord out with a snap.

“Why don’t you just use your skinsuit?” Peter asks. “Everyone has them now.” He puts out a hand to demonstrate the ease of his activation sequence. Claude’s hand darts out and seizes his wrist.

“Don’t be so damn stupid, kid,” Claude snaps. Peter squirms as the man’s grip tightens painfully. Claude glares, then pushes him away. “They can track you like that, idiot.”

Peter winces, rubbing his wrist. He follows Claude the rest of the way in confused silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter can hear voices as he and Claude climb back up the stairs to Hiro’s apartment. As they enter, a dark-haired woman turns at the table. She wears a black suit like Hiro, but her voice holds a variant of Claude’s harsh accent. Peter decides that she’s very beautiful, but her face is hard and eyes cold. Both stand as Peter and Claude arrive, Hana’s hand hovering over her hip. She relaxes and smiles as she recognizes Claude. Hiro steps forward. “Hana Gitelman, this is Peter.” The woman—Hana—holds out her hand in greeting. “Peter, this is Bright Hana.”

Peter recoils from the extended hand. Claude scowls, and Hana seems slightly amused. “You’re Bright Hana? You—you’re infamous—you cracked the Conglomerate mainframe! You’re wanted in twenty five systems!”

Hana laughs. “Twenty six, as of yesterday.” Peter goggles in disbelief at her pride. “You have a software problem, Peter. There’s no one better than me with software.”

“Because you’re a hacker.” The stress Peter puts on the last word draws a small chuckle and grin from the woman.

“Yes, I am. Now take off your jacket and sit down.”

Peter takes a step back. “What?”

“I need to open you up.” Hana smiles, her face now mirthless. “Relax. I have no designs on your virtue.”

Peter looks around at the three strange people he’s fallen in with. Resigning himself to his strange fate, he takes off his jacket and sits down at the table. Strange though they may be, they honestly seem to want to help him. Hana peers at the back of his neck and hums tonelessly. “Someone else opened you recently. Good. That’ll make this easier.” She peels off the patch of nuskin covering his incision. He can hear the sound of rummaging behind him and Hana slaps a local anesthetic patch below the incision and Peter shivers.

He can feel the impossible chill creeping up into his hairline and down his neck. A bone-deep cold spreads from the base of his skull until he can’t feel anything on the back of his neck. He supposes he should be grateful that they are even using an anesthetic, but he still hates the feeling. It’s even worse when he can sense and hear Hiro moving behind him. He knows that they’re cutting him open and poking around beneath his skin and it’s almost worse that he doesn’t know what exactly is happening. He can hear horrible little noises, both organic and mechanical, coming from behind him, but all he can feel is a strange, constant pressure against his neck. He looks desperately for anything to take his concentration off the activity behind him.

Claude drops his bag on the outer side of the table with a heavy and suspiciously metallic thud. He takes out two canvas sacks, both empty, and sets them aside on the floor. Then he starts to unpack the oversized bag’s contents and set them carefully on the table. Peter can not help but stare. One after another, Claude pulls out weapons, and lays them in orderly rows. Lasers, sonic blasters, primitive projectile weapons, even a large and frightfully imposing knife.

He picks up the weapons, one by one, and thoroughly checks them, the charges on the laser and sonic blasters, the bullets in the pistols. He separates the smaller, handheld guns; packs them into either canvas bag, evenly distributing the weight. The bigger weapons are put back into the large bag. He also stuffs packages of sealed rations into both of the smaller bags, along with plastic bubbles filled with clean water. Folders of cash cards quickly follow.

Claude sits down with the knife and what Peter assumes is a stone for sharpening it. The man spits on the stone, and starts running the edge of the knife across the surface in a smooth rasp. Peter feels a sharp spike of pain in his neck and can’t quite bite back a soft grunt of discomfort. Claude looks over at him and catches him staring. Holding Peter’s gaze, Claude raises the knife, and licks along the edge.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat. The gesture is probably meant to be menacing, but instead it’s the filthiest, most vulgar thing Peter’s ever seen in his life. He squirms uncomfortably, heat rising in his cheeks. Claude grins crazily and looks away, returning to sharpening that knife. Peter looks away helplessly and tries to think of something, anything else.

He stares out the window until his attention is caught by two women loitering outside of the building across the street. They’re both beautiful but, like everything down here, hardened and cold. One steps farther into the light and Peter’s startled to see that they’re twins. Their identical forms are outlined by a glow of red neon light and clothed unlike anyone he’s seen; they are barely covered in tight, short clothing that show a ridiculous amount of flesh for the cold weather. A man approaches them and Peter’s eyes widen. Prostitutes. He looks away quickly. He’s never seen anything even remotely like that On High.

But memory nudges him. He can’t help but think of some of the women Nathan would take to dinner, even while he was contracted to Heidi. He shoves the thought away, not particularly wanting to deal with the resulting implications about his brother, as well as his own blindness towards Nathan’s lifestyle.

He’s spared any further contemplation when Hana makes a satisfied noise and the presences behind move back. Turning carefully, he can see a mass of twisted, colorful wire leading from his neck to a strange box. He reaches a hand up to feel the back of his neck, and catches the sensation of wires extruding from an open wound before Hana slaps his hand away. He swallows, putting aside the nauseating discomfort. He looks back at the box and realizes it isn’t really a box at all.

It is a jury-rigged node, made of separate components wired and glued together any way they fit. As he watches, Hiro finishes twisting together a pair of wires and adjusts the lens on the top of the casing. A projector, Peter realizes. Hana presses of series of button on a part of the bow recognizably cannibalized from an everyday datapad.

A shaky hologram appears above the projector. Hana frowns and taps a stylus across the datascreen. The image crackles, jumps, and then stabilizes, revealing the Helix Company logo. Claude sneers at it, while Hana remains locked in concentration on the projector. Hiro stares at the image impassively, but there is a look in his eyes that Peter can’t decipher, one that worries him. Hana taps at the screen again and the image dissolves into lines of script, shorthand and equations and symbols that Peter has never seen before.

Claude joins the other two around the projector, casually bumping Peter’s shoulder as he goes past. Peter can’t decide whether it was meant to be reassuring or if Claude is just unthinkingly rude. He’d prefer if it were the former. Claude looks back over his shoulder and catches Peter’s eye, quickly looking away. Peter smiles to himself. Reassuring, then.

Hana pulls out the three coiled cords from the projector. She plugs the head of one into the port behind her right ear, interfacing directly between her skinsuit and the machine. Hiro and Claude take the other two cords and do the same. Peter watches, feeling oddly left out, as the three interact in a private network. Hana’s hands gesture wildly in the air, and Peter only vaguely recognizes some of her commands, and barely even those. More than anything, it convinces Peter of her deserved notoriety as a hacker. She obviously has a natural affinity with machines and especially networks, and is operating on a higher technical level that anyone Peter has met before. Hiro and Claude are mostly observing while Hana’s gestures manipulate the downloaded code. The jury-rigged projector’s image stutters and cuts out, unable to keep up with Hana’s quick manipulation.

All movement suddenly stops. All three seem to be staring at the same point in space. Then Hana makes a truncated gesture, increasing the magnification on a piece of code, Peter guesses. They stare, unmoving, for several more moments before Hana makes a gesture that dismisses the simulation and their network. The three disengage from the machine and the cords snap back into the projector’s casing. Claude rubs at the skin around his port as though it itches and Hana shakes her head irritably. Peter remember that “jacking in” causes sensory feedback, and that’s part of why everyone has skinsuits now. He wonders why they bother with a physical network when they could just as easily use the planetary Net.

They all seem to be intent on thoughts of their own, so Peter heaves a contrived sigh. “I hate to be a bother, but do you think we could remove the huge mass of wire from the back of my head now?”

Hana laughs and walks around behind him. Peter can hear her disconnecting things; the anesthetic is starting to wear off a little, allowing him to almost feel it as well. She presses another patch of nuskin on him, sealing the incision. Hana retrieves a pain-relief patch from out of a disordered medkit and Peter gratefully sticks it on his neck, sighing as the aggravation recedes.

Hiro rummages beneath a pile of notes before returning with a black box about the size of his palm. He flicks it open and Peter can see rows of datachips, none bigger than the size of his smallest fingernail. Hiro selects one and slots it into the projector.

Claude scowls as soon as the lines of code appear in the projection. He glares at Hiro. “You said you destroyed this, Nakamura.”

Hiro shrugs, expressionless. “I lied.”

“It’s mine,” Claude growls, the possessiveness in his tone obvious.

“Technically,” Hana pipes up, “it belongs to the Helix Company.” Claude scowls at her too. Peter realizes that this is probably an old and familiar argument between them.

Hiro taps on the datapad of the projector and a section of code lights up and is magnified. It’s not very long, but filled with strange syntax and unfamiliar symbols. Peter can’t make anything out, so it’s certainly not normal program coding.

“Ha,” Hana says, with a hint of triumph in her voice. “I thought so. It’s the same bit, although Peter’s has a few more upgrades.”

Claude snarls, “I’d hope so,’ but neither of them pay any attention. Peter wonders what it is about this code fragment that makes Claude so angry.

Hiro stares at the projection. “But why would you need to overwrite physiology like that?”

Peter blanches. He understood that. “You’re saying that this program is changing me, changing my genetic code?”

For the first time, Hiro looks nervous. Hana keeps staring at the display; Claude is simply looking away. “Well, yes,” Hiro answers. “But it’s not anything to worry about. It’s not very extensive.”

Peter is on the brink of a nuclear explosion when Hana butts in. “It’s only supposed to unlock genetic potential. I have no idea what that means, but it’s not going to turn you into a mutant. Especially since your version of the program is so much more sophisticated than the original. It’s specifically targeted at certain genes.” She trails off, finishing almost to herself, “But they’re useless genes; junk DNA.”

“What about the original, then?” Peter asks. The second set of data, the one projected must be code from the original version of the program.

Hiro sketches a glance at Claude. Claude is still staring out the window, staunch and distant. “It nearly killed the original subject. It wasn’t quite compatible with skinsuit technology. The program rejected it.” Claude snorts and Hiro adopts a contrite look.

“Why would anything want to do something like this?” Peter asks.

Claude looks at him like he’s the dumbest child in class. “Military advantage, Peter. Imagine what this could do with soldiers.”

Hiro nods, but Hana looks skeptical. “But if it’s programmed to work with the skinsuit, it could skyrocket efficiency. The possibilities for data mining and hacking are astronomical. It would be info-tage on a whole new level.” The woman sounds delighted by the idea.

Hiro shrugs. “Maybe it’s both. Combining the best of both possibilities.”

Peter shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Military? Info-tage?”

Hiro looks grave. “It means super soldiers, Peter. Helix Company wants to create genetically enhanced super soldiers.” Peter says nothing, only looks at Hiro with a thousand questions in his eyes, but none winning the battle to be first on his lips.

Suddenly, a klaxon starts blaring. There are various thuds from the lower floors and scared, desperate shouts. Hiro swears in an unfamiliar language and activates a small video screen. The view shows the hallway a floor down and the twins Peter had seen earlier.

Claude snarls, “The Sanders girls.” Peter’s never heard anyone speak with so much contempt in their voice. “Should’ve fucking guessed Thompson would send them.” He scoops up his big black bag and dumps it on the tabletop. He rips open the bag and whips out an impressive arsenal of laser guns. He grabs Hiro by the shoulder, pressing a gun into his hand. “You shoot to kill this time, Hiro. They’re not innocents; they helped at Medu-ceq. Remember that.” Peter is just as confused by the conversation as the impending attack.

Meanwhile, Hana runs a thick cord from the projector to Hiro’s wall screen. She activates his net connection with a flick of her hand. She shakes her head. “I told myself I’d never do this. Oh well.” She presses a large button on the projector. Both datapad and wall screen flash wildly and then go blank. “It’s done, Hiro,” she sighs. She takes a gun from Claude and it fits deftly into her hand; she is definitely no stranger to violence. “I can’t believe I wiped all that data,” she moans. “It feels like sacrilege.”

Claude slants an annoyed glance at her. He slings one of the smaller canvas bags he packed earlier across his shoulders. He turns to Peter and slings its mate over his head; Peter sags under the weight for a moment before regaining his footing. Claude’s eyes flick from Peter to the pile of guns and then back, and the man visibly decides not to give him a weapon. Peter is slightly relieved; he doesn’t think he could hurt them, no matter who they were.

The four of them stand silently, tense; they can hear footsteps on the stairs. Peter can see fingers tightening on triggers. The door bursts inwards with a bang, blown out of the frame. The two women follow in its wake, already shooting. Claude shoves Peter behind him while Hana flips over the table for cover.

Hana and Hiro dive behind the table, guns propped up on the edge of the table and firing. Peter flinches as a cacophony of small explosions spills into the apartment. Claude takes aim expertly; face blank and hard as stone. He fires once, twice, three times in the heat-generated haze. The third shot earns a shrill cry from one of the Sanders twins. She stumbles slightly, a patch of blood blooming on her calf, but misses only a beat before pointing her gun at Claude.

He leaps deftly out of the way, throwing Peter into the wall and standing, legs wide, in front of him. Hiro shoots with a barely noticeable hesitation; Hana fires wildly like it’s going out of style. Both are still kneeling behind the feeble protection of the table, now peppered with small, circular burns. Peter simply stands, back against the wall, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible.

The Sanders twins take shelter behind the doorframe, one—the one Claude wounded—laying down cover fire. The other woman steps confidently into the doorframe hefting something on to her shoulder. Peter barely has time to recognize a laser cannon before Claude throws them both to the floor. The thunder of the cannon shakes the room and cheap plaster turns to dust around them as the blast scorches the wall above their heads.

The blonde drops the cannon with an incongruously sexy smirk and ducks back into the cover of the doorframe; her sister tosses her another handgun. Peter struggles to his knees and into an ungainly, frightened crouch. Claude is almost immediately back on his feet, dropping one depleted gun and drawing another. Hana beckons quickly to them, and the momentary distraction is enough for one to hit her directly on the shoulder. She screams, drops her gun, and curls in on herself behind the table. Claude takes a few steps closer to Hiro, leaving Peter small and vulnerable. Terror flares within him, stronger and more bone-wrenching than he has ever experienced. He could die, right now, without anyone knowing what happened. Peter fights back tears, tries hard to be brave.

Hiro stops firing. Claude starts to shoot, but Hiro shakes his head urgently. “You need to leave,” he hisses. “Take Peter and get out. They can’t take either of you.” Claude hesitates, torn. Hiro wrenches the gun out of his hands. “We’ll hold them off, now go!” Hiro starts firing at the two women and Hana sits back up, one hand staunching the flow of blood from her shoulder and the other pulling at the trigger, pain making her heedless of accuracy.

Claude grabs Peter by the scruff of his neck and drags him into the bedroom. He drops Peter and draws his pistol; slams the butt of the gun into the window, smashing it. Outside the window, Peter can see a staircase spiraling down to the street below. Claude boosts Peter out the window and follows on his heels.

Peter barely has time to catch his breath before Claude is hustling him down the stairs, practically tossing him down.

Moments later, Peter feels the rickety staircase shake and doesn’t dare look back up. He knows the two women are standing at the landing. He ducks down the last few steps as laser fire bursts around them. He trips and nearly falls. Claude heaves him to his feet and bodily tosses him out into the alley. They sprint, ducking into the crowds on the main street. Peter hesitates, fights the urge to stop. Claude grabs his hand.

“Run!”


	5. Chapter 5

Claude drags Peter into an alley. Peter collapses against the wall, panting. Claude pokes his head around the corner, looking behind them. He pulls back with a sigh. “We’ve lost ‘em for now.” He looks down at Peter. “You’re gonna have to be a lot tougher to make it through this, Pete. We’ll make for a platform, try to get lost in the crowds. I know a few safe places off the Selgati sector.”

Peter nods, dragging in a deep breath and standing up.

They dart back out into the street, trying to merge as much as possible into the smallish crowds. Claude does it better and pulls ahead slightly. Peter follows in his wake, keeping his head down and trying to look like the rest of the workers. He mimics their mannerisms as best he can and hopes that it’s enough.

They make it to the terminal, standing on the platform with the rest of the bustling crowds. A railcar pulls up, the wind of its passage buffeting the mob. Peter loses sight of Claude as the crowd surges into the car. He pushes down the panic. As the car begins moving, he finds that Claude has maneuvered them so they’re barely five feet apart. The other man is completely ignoring him, not even looking in his direction. Peter tries to do the same, but is unable to stop sneaking nervous glances at Claude every time the car slows.

Peter counts six stops before Claude moves to the exit. He wonders how Claude knew which one to take; he must have the system memorized. On High, the names of stops flash in the ether of the net, alerting the passengers via an override. Here, without his skinsuit activated, Peter can see nothing. A spark of fear courses through him: he doesn’t even know where they are in Manha.

Peter scrambles out of the car, trying desperately to keep up with Claude, terrified of losing his only guide and protector.

Peter looks around at the large crowd that follows him off the car. Claude obviously picked this sector for a reason. There are plenty of rough-looking men with weapons, many of them dressed like Claude. Mercenaries, Peter guesses. The rest seem to be smaller and darker; Peter fits in surprisingly well. The mass of people disperse fairly quickly down the broad streets. Claude hangs back and picks up Peter again.

They head down smaller streets, following some of the rougher looking men and a few furtive individuals at a distance. Peter tries not to look too hard at anyone on the street. They peel off quickly into an area that Peter guessed existed even in his city. The neon here is even more garish than the Deep Below. Sex is everywhere, in the stench of the street, the displays of stores, the sounds of raunchy music and moaning blared over loudspeakers. There are signs in stores offering horribly lurid products and services. Peter keeps his eyes low, trying not to see the hollow-eyed men and women standing in doorways and corners. He’s doubly glad that his skinsuit’s not activated. The Net content here would be overwhelming; touch, sight, sounds transmitted direct to the consumer’s brain.

Peter sticks close to Claude’s side. The man lays a proprietary hand on Peter’s shoulder and he looks up in surprise. Claude is staring across the street, glowering at another heavily armed man. The stranger holds his hands out, empty. Claude pulls Peter in closer beside him with a parting scowl at the man. Peter blushes all over; he doesn’t like the subtext of this situation one bit.

Claude steers them into a small storefront with a sign offering the shorthand for a hostel. Peter hangs back a little, letting his bangs cover his face. Claude strolls confidently to the counter. The stick-thin girl behind the counter is staring off into space, her eyes clouded and expression muzzy. When Claude touches a button on the counter, she makes an aborted hand-gesture and she focuses on him. Her eyes flick to Peter and he tries not to flinch, knowing what she must be thinking about him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Get Lahey out here. Tell him Griffin is here to see him.”

The women scuttles backward, disappearing behind a curtain. Peter is beginning to suspect that his protector may have an unlimited supply of alternate identities. Just moments later, a large man, obviously bred of heavy planet stock, bustles out. Lahey clasps one of Claude’s hands in his giant paws, shaking it effusively. “Good to see you, again, Jack.” The man beams and Peter is surprised to see that he’s probably shorter than Peter; his body shortened and strengthened by the pull of gravity. Truly heavy gravity then, from out on the Rim, probably Honn, or Tait’s Moon. Lahey looks at Peter and then winks lasciviously at Claude, clapping him on the back and making him stumble. Claude is by no means a small man, but Lahey makes him seem slightly built.

Lahey smirks. “You’ll be wantin’ your special room, eh, Jack?”

Claude grins, casting a look back at Peter. “Oh, yeah.” Lahey laughs and waves his hand in the air. A door opens in the back wall, sliding into the wall, leading to a darkened staircase. Claude grabs Peter, dragging him towards the stairs. Activated by movement, the stair’s lights switch on, dim but still casting enough light to see by. The stairs lead down into an even more poorly lit room; Peter can’t see any details but the thick rug on the plasteel floor. Claude starts down, his hand locked around Peter’s wrist.

Peter trips down after him, throwing back on last glance at the shop. Lahey is moving towards the counter girl with another lascivious smirk. The girl is paying no attention to the big man, but instead giving Peter a sympathetic look. It’s the first time he had been acknowledged as more than a piece of meat since he entered the hostel.

The door slides shut behind them.

Peter balks as he enteres the basement room. The luxurious rug had belied the severity of the rest of the room. Functional lights; a single small bed. One wall is completely covered with restraints. Peter panics, wrenching his wrist out of Claude’s grip.

He backpedals, but Claude is faster than him. He smacks Peter on the back of his head, then locks a hand around the back of Peter’s neck, fingers pressed against the sensitive skin above his implants. Peter gasps in pain and lets himself be dragged across the room.

At the far wall, a hidden panel slides seamlessly away, revealing a room that’s more a large closet than a room. There’s enough for two pallets and a small space between them. Claude tosses Peter into the room and the door slides shut behind them. Peter can hear the faint hiss of the room being pressurized and notices the small hub of an independent air cycler. His eyes snap back to Claude, who is, strangely enough, watching him with an annoyed expression.

Claude shakes his head as he lowers his carryall to one of the pallets. “You know, I’ve had pets that were smarter than you.” He settles himself on the pallet, back pressed against the wall and stretches out his long legs. “You really though I brought you all the way out here to take advantage of you? Damn, but you’re thick.” He laughs in a way that is quickly becoming very aggravating.

Peter scowls, dropping his own bag. “What the fuck was I supposed to think? I’ve known you a couple of hours and already you’ve licked a knife at me! Then you bring me out here, where your giant heavy-world buddy goes on about your ‘special’ room! Then you drag me down into a room filled with chains and laser cuffs! Where are we anyway?”

Claude leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “The meat market.”

“The meat market,” Peter repeats. He slides down the wall and pulls his knees up to his chin.

Claude ignores him. “Lahey isn’t a friend of mine. I did a large favor for him once, so he owes me the use of his bunker. We’ll stay here tonight, and find another place in the morning.”

“That man is a monster,” Peter whispers. He can’t forget the look on the counter girl’s face.

Claude’s head jerks up and he stares at Peter, taking in his posture. “Sometimes you have to deal with monsters to survive. He’s not much worse than the rest. People suck, friend.” He shrugs. “And what’s wrong with you now?”

Peter closes his eyes. “I almost ended up down here today.” Claude starts to laugh, but stops when Peter glares at him sharply. “I was attacked. They would’ve sold me to some monster if…” He trails off, the thought too awful to finish.

Claude tilts his head. “So that’s how you met Hiro. That man has a hero complex as big as all Onale.”

Peter shakes his head. “I met him afterwards. I, uh, fought them off myself. I used Eclipse. It just…sort of…it’s like I pushed them away with my mind. I just pushed as hard as I could. I didn’t mean to.” Claude is watching him in all seriousness now. “I think I killed them,” he adds, his voice trailing off.

Claude raises his eyebrow. “You told Hana and Hiro that you flew, as well.”

Peter nods. “And…I didn’t think much of it at the time, just one of those things…I think I had a dream about the future, too.”

“Eclipse is giving you a lot to work with. More than it seemed in the code.” His brow furrows. “Maybe it’s the natural result of interaction with your genome,” he muses aloud. Then he shrugs. “Well, that certainly useful to know.”

Peter frowns, his head throbbing with fear, ignorance, and the exhausting aftermath of adrenaline. Claude’s face softens a little. “Get your head down, kid. We’ll be up with the early shift tomorrow.”

\---

Hiro Nakamura sits, laser cuffs binding him to a single steel chair. Bennet watches him through a video feed on his data-specs and with a flick of his hand, pulls up the man’s file. Terrorist is probably the best word for him. Countless acts of sabotage against various Companies, especially Helix. There’s a mention of him surviving the bombing of the Helix base on Medu-ceq, where they almost lost Mister Linderman. After that, only violence in this man’s life. Bennet shrugs; he finds Nakamura’s history a bit odd, but that is not his trouble. He dismisses both file and video and enters the interrogation room.

Parkman follows him in and they sit across the table from the bound man, waiting patiently and silently.

Nakamura sighs and speaks. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Parkman leans back in his chair, playing with the data-ring around his finger. Bennet leans forward. “Peter Petrelli is sick, delusional. We just want to find him and bring him home safely.”

Nakamura’s face is impassive. “Is that what you’re telling the family?”

“Peter’s father committed suicide.” Bennet watches as that fact makes Nakamura twitch. Suicides are practically unheard of On High. “He has a history of wild flights of fancy. We want to help Peter before he gets himself hurt.”

“Why him?” Bennet frowns at the non-sequitur, wondering where Nakamura is headed with his question. “Why did you choose Peter for the Eclipse project?”

Bennet’s face remains blank despite his surprise. He doesn’t dare look at Matt; he is so much worse at hiding his emotion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

One of Nakamura’s brows lifts. “The hidden program buried in the coding of the recent upgrade to Peter’s skinsuit. The one that is rewriting every cell in his body.” The man tilts his head. “So why this boy, this Peter Petrelli?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” Inwardly, Bennet sighs. If they know this much, they’ve become a danger to Helix. He had really hoped that he could get through this job without killing. He’d been involved in the first experiment with Eclipse and left his partner to die when it failed spectacularly. He glances back at Matt, who is idly tapping away at his datapad, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.

A strange, rueful smile crosses Nakamura’s face. “I’d forgotten. Helix doesn’t care about its people, the people it has to sacrifice to achieve its glorified end.” He scowls. “After all, the council was willing to destroy their holdings on Medu-ceq just to gain some publicity.”

Matt’s head jerks up and Bennet sighs. Nakamura turns his strange, flat gaze on Parkman. “You didn’t know? Linderman planned the entire attack, hired the men who planted the bombs. Even picked Medu-ceq precisely to gain the most favor.”

Matt snarls, lurching across the table to throttle Nakamura. His face is twisted and unrecognizable with fury. “Shut up! My wife died there!”

Bennet drags Matt backwards, sure that the other man means to kill the terrorist.

Nakamura laughs, but it is only a hollow sound. “I lost my best friend there. Oh, but wasn’t Helix Company so popular after? Stronger than ever, united by the firm leadership of Mister Linderman!” Bennet hold Matt back and tries not to listen. He had heard rumors, but they were only that: rumors, nothing more. The council could not possibly be that ruthless and cold. “And didn’t the council give Mister Linderman powers that had never been given to a Company leader before? Powers unheard of? They say he rules all of Vega 3 now.”

Bennet manags to drag Parkman out of the room. He pushes his partner away as soon as the door sealed behind them. Bennet glares threateningly at Matt. “You could have ruined this, Parkman.” Matt glowers, but he does look slightly embarrassed. “Get out of here until you calm down. I’ll finish the interrogation.” He watches Parkman walk away, then re-enters the room.

Nakamura is sitting calmly, a slight smile on his lips. “Let us be straight with each other,” Nakamura suggests.

Bennet nods warily. He obviously isn’t fooling this man, he might as well see what the bald-faced truth will get him.

“You know that I am aware you implanted Peter Petrelli with an experimental program. You know that I’ve met Peter, and facilitated his escape. You also know that I hate your Company and won’t ever give you information. What I want to know is what will happen to me.”

Bennet meets Nakamura’s eyes and knows that he’s telling the truth. He’ll never talk. Bennet shrugs. “If you help us, we can send you to a reform colony.”

Nakamura sneers. “I won’t help you. I’ve seen the results of some of your earliest experiments with Eclipse.”

Bennet’s heart lurches in his chest. Is it possible? Can Nakamura know about the earliest subjects? They’d collected all the bodies, and the few survivors were firmly ensconced in the Company. That only leaves one. Claude.

Nakamura takes his silence as an answer. “You’ll never find Peter. Not with the protection he has.”

That’s obviously all they are going to get out of this man, so Bennet takes him back to his cell. He robotically hands the transfer over to a younger officer. He makes his way to his office and leans his hands against the desk. He lets his head fall forward, old-fashioned data-specs sliding down his nose.

It can’t be possible. The implanted tracker reported him dead. He watched him die, left him in that stinking alley.

Claude can’t be alive.

\---

Nathan worries about his brother. He has always looked after Peter, been his protector. Peter had been acting very strange before he disappeared, claiming impossible things, but that’s just Peter. He has always had the imagination in their family, always believed and dreamed. And no matter what the Company investigators tell him, he doesn’t believe his brother is insane. Can’t believe it.

But it’s been two days since he last saw Peter, when the last disappearance from On High lasted a whole of four hours. He’s starting to get very worried. Peter hasn’t called him, left him a message, or tried to contact him in any way. And there’s no record of him on the Net, meaning that his skinsuit hasn’t been activated either. Nathan is sure that if he could, Peter would find a way to contact him. They have always been so close, ever since childhood. Nathan doesn’t know what he would do if he lost Peter.

Nathan sets his jaw. The Company police are obviously looking in the wrong direction; they’ll never find Peter if he’s in trouble. He’ll have to handle this one on his own.

\---

Claire Bennet knows that something is different the moment she downloads the update. It’s supposed to be just a normal update, maintenance and performance programs to help skinsuits run better. Nothing special, it’s the same data packet everyone downloads eventually. She integrates the new programs and patches into her skinsuit systems, feeling the slight tingle as the wires warm up and activate.

She notices the real different as soon as she enters the Net space. She logs into the building Node and drops into the glittering pathways of the Net. And all of a sudden, she’s running through it at twice the speed. He suit responds better, filters the information more finely; everything is improved. She feels unaccountably powerful, like the smartest, strongest, most beautiful thing on the Net.

She feels indestructible.


	6. Chapter 6

The day finds Peter and Claude out of the meat market and Deep Below. Claude parks Peter in a marketplace in the Mosmosa sector and disappears for an hour.

"Ready to go then?" Peter starts as Claude edges out of the crowd, tucking a square bundle into his bag. Peter thinks he recognizes the shape of a medkit. He nods and they leave the swirling activity of the market behind.

Claude finds them lodging by heading to a boarding house in Oldomin Plaza. A beautiful woman with caramel skin and dark eyes lets them in, while the man who is obviously her brother glowers at them. Claude introduces himself as Daniel Westin and the young lady smiles and gives them a room. Peter is sure that she knows they’re in trouble. She pats his hand as she ushers them into a room and disappears.

Peter drops on to the single narrow bed while Claude leans against the rickety steel table. “I was part of the police force for Helix once,” he says, out of the blue. “Worked my way up through the pilot corps. Learned all sorts of interesting things.” He turns serious eyes on Peter. “Do you know how they’re tracking you?”

Peter shakes his head. He hasn’t tried to activate his skinsuit since Claude warned him, so it can’t be that.

“They’ve got a tracking system. It can find you wherever you go.” He looks up at the ceiling, looking for the words. “You’re implanted with a tracking device, Peter. And I’m going to have to cut it out of you.” He meets Peter’s shocked gaze with a genuinely apologetic look. “’s the only way.”

Peter’s hand flies to the back of his skull. He’s had the same place cut open twice in three days. He doesn’t think he could stand a third time.

Claude shakes his head. “The tattoo on the back of your neck. The Helix symbol. The one you got when you were accepted into the Company.” Peter’s hand slips down to the nape of his neck. He touches the tattoo gingerly. The half-helix symbol; he’s had it since he was ten. He remembers going to the Company clinic with Nathan, laughing while it was being done. His stomach twists dangerously. It was a symbol of family, and the Company is using it to keep tabs on their people. If there’s a tracking device beneath, he suddenly wants it out desperately.

“I don’t have anything for ya. I’m not gonna lie; it’s gonna hurt like buggery fuck.”

Peter nods, staring at the scarred and pitted tabletop. “Let’s just…get it over with.”

Claude watches him; the usual tight, calculating look twists into something almost…nice. Peter shoves the thought aside. He can’t afford to think about Claude like that, especially not now.

“All right, on your stomach then.”

Peter strips off his shirt, the rustle of fabric oddly loud in the quiet room, and slides on to the table. He arranges himself in a way that is marginally comfortable and looks over his shoulder at Claude. The man’s face is blank, controlled; Peter catches snatches of thought— _lily-white rich boy_ —and— _too damn pretty for_ —

Claude steps up to the table, and the thoughts that aren’t Peter’s vanish like smoke. The older man sets a plastic case on the table next to Peter’s side, the chill of it shuddering across his skin. Claude reaches into the medkit and peels the wrapping off a sterilized scalpel. “You’re not gonna want to watch this part, mate.” Peter turns his head away, but he could swear he feels the phantom touch of fingertips trailing on his skin. The tip of the scalpel alights on the nape of his neck, the half-helix tattoo that he has borne half his life. The symbol of family, of bondage to the Company.

Then there is pain and no thoughts left to waste on ghostly touches. The scalpel cuts through flesh and to bone. But Claude keeps talking, and Peter desperately latches on to his voice, grounding himself against the pain.

“I did this, when I first went on the run. ‘Course, I had to do it myself. And right after the thing you’re carryin’ burnt my wires. Hands barely movin’ and blind as a bat. But I knew about the tracker, knew I had to get it out. So I took a piece of glass and opened myself up. Not a real easy angle, there.” Pliers click against bone and Peter nearly cries out. “It took me nearly an hour to dig that bugger out. You’re getting off easy.” Something metal clinks into a tray—the tracker, Peter hopes desperately. Claude rummages in the medkit and seals a patch of nuskin on the incision, fingertips lingering. “There now,” Claude says, almost gently, “Safe as houses.”

Peter sits up and for the first time, sees Claude without all his protective clothing, his outer shell. Stained with flecks of Peter’s blood, his arms are masses of scars, burn marks patterned in coils of wire, flesh destroyed from the inside out. “Burned your wires…” Peter gasps, bitter understanding heavy on his tongue. “This thing, this program that’s inside of me, it short-circuited your skinsuit. But…that should have killed you!” He lunges and grabs Claude’s arm. The man freezes, then gently shakes off Peter’s hand.

“Not your version, but close enough for government work. And it nearly did kill me. Would have, if Nakamura hadn’t found me.”

Peters stares at Claude, seeing him in a whole new light. “But you said you were a policeman. Didn’t you have a partner?”

Claude freezes and he scowls. Abruptly as it had arrived, any trace of gentleness disappears. “None of your fucking business, kid.” He tosses a towel at Peter, turning away to the sink. “Get cleaned up. I’ll steal us a lift.”

\---

Claude stops at a street console, looking for the latest news to see if the raid made the newswaves. Peter keeps watch nervously, eying the pedestrians around them with suspicion. Claude pulls the cord out of the casing and plugs into the port behind his ear. As soon as he plugs in, brilliant light bursts across the screen.

Peter whips around in shock and Claude curses a blue streak. A message scrolls by on the screen, text and shorthand moving too fast for Peter to read. The note ends with a strange symbol, a bright shining star.

Claude disengages from the console and grins. Peter looks at him, perplexed. “What’s going on?”

“Hana managed to run to ground, to escape. She wants to meet.”

The meeting place is in the small, winding streets of Samves. At first glance, it’s no more than a door and a discreet sign. They step through the strangely old fashioned threshold into a den.

It’s dark and filled with fragrant smoke. Peter’s eyes adjust to the gloom of the space and finds several people, mostly men, watching them. The customers smoke from long tubes attached to large, intricate glass bottles. A heavyset man with an unruly beard takes a pull off a tube and breathes out, exhaling a tongue of fruit-scented smoke. “Come in, then, and close the damn door.”

They head towards the back of the warren, and Peter spots Hana through the fragrant haze. He nudges Claude, and they join Hana at her small table.

Hana smiles. “Good, you got my message. I wasn’t sure that you’d show.”

Claude shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I thought the Sanders girls might have got you.”

She shifts and Peter notices that she is still favoring her wounded shoulder. “Jessica and I have an…arrangement,” she explains, not quite meeting Claude’s eyes.

“Hiro?”

Hana shakes her head. “The arrangement doesn’t extend to my associates. Helix has him now.”

Claude sits back in his rickety wooden chair, face closed and emotionless. Peter ducks his head, thinking of the man who selflessly helped him. Peter swallows a feeling of guilt; Hiro put his life in danger for him and was arrested for it.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peter asks, already knowing the answer.

Claude looks away and Hana shakes her head. “If I had a few months to plan, maybe,” she says. “But not now. I can’t get to the equipment I’d need without being arrested myself.” She meets Claude’s gaze. “He’s on his own.”

“We can’t even try to trade him; not without Eclipse.” Claude slants a glance at Peter and Peter feels his gut tighten with sudden worry. “And we can’t risk them getting their hands on Peter.” Peter exhales, the fear dissipating.

“I deleted Hiro’s copy,” Hana adds. “And without my hardware I can’t make another.”

Claude’s eyes narrow. “You’re lying, Hana.”

Hana scowls and looks away. “Fine. I didn’t delete the copy. I couldn’t! I couldn’t just destroy that much valuable data!”

Peter wonders if this is because Hana is a hacker who works in data, or if it is a common feeling Below.

Claude frowns and shakes his head. “If you didn’t destroy it, where’d you send it?”

“The only place I could,” Hana says, looking slightly sheepish. “I put it out on the Net.”

“Where, Hana?” Claude asks, voice strained.

She stares at the table for a moment. “I hid it in the automatic update.”

Peter gasps and Claude bites back a curse. Everyone on the planet downloads the automatic update—the bundle of debugged programs that help skinsuit efficiency. There’s no telling how many people have already downloaded the update, unknowingly installing Eclipse in their skinsuits. There could be dozens, even hundreds of people out there, oblivious to the rogue program dormant in their bodies.

Claude looks about ready to kill. This has made their situation even more precarious. If Helix finds out, it will enrage management. Their pursuers will chase them harder and faster. Hana’s reluctance to destroy data may just get them all killed.

Claude makes an obvious effort to contain his anger. He glares at a contrite Hana, then shakes his head. “Nothing we can do about it now. We’re gonna have to make the best of it.”

\---

“Nakamura was the real threat. Petrelli is harmless. He’ll probably come back on his own.” Bennet pushes the datapad with his reports across the desk to his superior.

Thompson leans back in his chair and ignores the proffered datapad. He steeples his fingers in front of his face and smirks at Bennet. Bennet keeps his face blank; he’s never really liked his boss, always found him slightly malevolent. The dead gray eyes, the sleek gray hair, and that ever-present smirk. Claude had once called him the creepiest motherfucker ever to crawl up out of the slime pits of Kith. In fact, Bennet is pretty sure he’s met things that had crawled out of the slime pits of Kith who were better people than Thompson.

But they’re doing good work here at Helix, so Bennet never says a word against the man. It’s more than just his job resting on his ability to stay quiet and obedient . His family’s safety is also at stake – that is what really keeps Bennet calm.

Thompson just smiles that secretive smirk. “You think Claude Raines might still be alive.”

Bennet frowns. “You were watching the interrogation.”

“Of course.” Thompson inclines his head. “I’m your supervisor.” The uncanny smile drops like a mask and Thompson frowns. “On that note, you need to speak to your partner. Tell Parkman that, if he ever does that again, I’ll find him a post on the furthest of the Rim worlds. And I’ll send his family with him. Make sure he understands that.”

Bennet hides his horror well, an ability acquired from years of working with Thompson. But it’s a dire threat. They’ve all seen the newswaves from the labor colonies on the far Rim worlds. People die there in flocks, worn out from sickness, labor; the very worst you can threaten to do to a man. And to menace his family like that… Bennet unclenches his jaw and stares guilelessly back at Thompson.

Thompson smiles attentively and leans forward. “You believe that Nakamura has been in contact in with Claude, if not recently, then in the past.”

“Nakamura’s testimony seems to imply so,” Bennet offers guardedly. “All of the other test subjects are accounted for.”

Thompson sighs. “Yes. That was such a waste. The very first Eclipse subject on this planet and we never retrieved the body for an autopsy.” Bennet flinches slightly. It’s a mild rebuke, and Thompson’s indifferent reaction towards a man’s death is chilling. Thompson looks down at the desk and draws Bennet’s datapad to him. “I will have to contact my own superiors about this,” he says, flicking the stylus across the screen. He looks up, face hard and completely serious. “This is bad for us. If Nakamura knows more about Eclipse, he just became much more dangerous, and if Claude is working with Nakamura, he no doubt has the Petrelli boy.” He allows a cold half-smile. “As I remember, Claude was always a resourceful individual.”

“Yes, sir,” Bennet answers woodenly.

“That’s all,” Thompson dismisses him with another smile. Bennet stands and crosses to the opaque door. He presses his hand against the dark glass and Thompson’s voice calls him back.

Bennet glances over his shoulder; Thompson is trying to look sympathetic but there is an evil glee behind the caring expression. “Bennet, I’m sorry about all this. I know Claude was your partner. But don’t let that get in the way of what you have to do.”

Bennet turns back to the door; he can see his own reflection in the black glass. His eyes speak of pain and loss, but his face is expressionless.

“Yes, sir,” he says.

\---

Claire pauses at the door of her family’s apartment, sealing the palm-lock. A strange blonde jostles her in the hallway. Claire bites off a sarcastic, “Excuse me,” glaring at the stranger. The woman whips around, her electric blue eyes sparking with unexpected rage. The woman pushes her back into door. Claire, incensed, lunges and slams the other blonde against the opposite wall.

The woman shoves her back, and Claire crashes into a light panel, her hand smashing through the glass. She cries out in pain and snatches her hand back. The light-emitting bacteria contained in light panels can cause serious infections. Claire cradles her hand against her chest and stares up the hallway. The other blonde is still watching her. The woman smirks and disappears around the corner. Claire starts to follow her when she’s distracted by the tinkling of shards of glass.

Claire looks down. Her stomach roils in horror and shock as pieces of glass are expelled from her skin and drop to the floor.

She stares at her hands as the blood disappears and the flesh knits back together.


	7. Chapter 7

The moment he meets him, Bennet feels an intense dislike for Nathan Petrelli. The man is smooth as ice, never revealing anything about his thoughts or emotions. Too slick, too careful. Bennet wonders why this man isn’t running his own Company by now. Nathan is running an entire branch of Helix’s operations on Onale VII, but Bennet finds it odd that he isn’t doing more. Nathan has boundless ambition; he wonders what’s holding him back.

Then he learns that it’s Peter.

Nathan welcomes him warily into the home he shares with his brother. Bennet calls up Nathan’s file on his data-specs. The father died a few yeas ago and the mother, Angela, is rarely on-world. She’s somehow nebulously connected to the upper management, perhaps even Mister Linderman. Bennet decides that this is certainly one case where they will need to tread carefully.

Nathan sits him down on a couch but doesn’t offer anything. Bennet isn’t sure if it’s out of nervousness or deliberate insult.

“I’ve already spoken to other officers,” Nathan starts. “Why are you here? Have you learned anything?”

Bennet pulls a datapad out of his jacket and hands it to Nathan. Nathan immediately begins clicking through its contents. “My colleagues lied to you, Mr. Petrelli,” Bennet says. “They told you that your brother disappeared, that he was suffering from the same delusions that afflicted your father. Peter didn’t disappear: he’s on the run. He stole something from Mister Linderman. He’s a fugitive.” Nathan’s face crumbles and he stares at the floor. Bennet softens. “If you know anything, if you can help us, we can make sure the management goes easy on him.”

Nathan looks up, his eyes dark and full of pain. “I didn’t know—Peter wouldn’t—“ He sighs and seems to pull himself together. He looks Bennet in the eye. Now Nathan is calm and composed again, revealing nothing. “I don’t have anything to tell you, Mr. Bennet, and I think you should leave now.”

Nathan ushers him to the door. Bennet throws a last glance over his shoulder at their target’s brother. From the flinty look in Nathan’s eyes, they’ll get never get him to betray Peter.

\---

Claude takes them to the far side of the city, to the Brecer sector. It’s almost respectable, hovering on the fringes of the city Below. Peter glances around nervously, hoping they aren’t too noticeable. Claude cuffs him for being conspicuous. They duck into a small hardware shop and Claude speaks briefly with the machinist, a large, heavyset woman. The woman waves them through to a back room and turns back to her work.

Claude sits down in front of a small, jury-rigged console. It’s like nothing Peter’s ever seen before. There’s no way for a person to plug in, to connect to the unit; just a screen and a recording device. Claude shrugs. “Dale doesn’t like to plug in.” Peter watches with interest as Claude activates the machine. The console lurches slowly through its startup, and a callstream blooms across the screen.

Hana nods grimly at them; Peter can vaguely see the room behind her, smoky and lit with bright neon, and wonders where she is.

“Did you do it?” Claude asks shortly.

Hana nods. “It’s done. It took a lot of money and a lot more luck. You’re going to owe me, Claude. I had to call in plenty of favors.”

Claude grins. “Put it on my tab.”

Hana rolls her eyes.

Peter smiles; it’s a welcome bit of humor in a dire situation.

They all sober quickly, though.

“We probably should stay out of contact until this over,” Hana suggests.

Claude nods in agreement.

Peter is relieved that Hana will be out of danger. He’s put enough people at risk recently; one less person Eclipse can hurt.

Claude reaches for the console to kill the connection. “Good luck,” Peter says, trying his best to give Hana a parting smile.

“You, too.” Hana’s voice floats out of the dying callstream.

\---

“So what do we know ya can do? Ya can fly—well, float—you’ve used telekinesis, and ya think ya had a dream about the future.”

“I can read minds, too. Sort of.” Peter shrugs, picking listlessly at his meal of soggy noodles.

Claude’s head whips up. “You been reading my mind, Peter?” His voice is hard and angry. Peter hadn’t expected him to have such a violent reaction.

“Not really. Just random things. Bits of surface thoughts. And I have to really concentrate.” He cocks his head to the side. “Wear what as a hat?”

Claude stares at him for a long moment before smirking. “Never mind. Just stay out of my head, yeah?”

Peter nods. He’d only tried using telepathy a few times and hadn’t gotten very far. It really wasn’t worth the effort.

Claude is quiet for several minutes. “Invisibility,” he sudden says. “I remember…Before my skinsuit shorted out, I remember my hands turning invisible.”

Peter reaches out and covers Claude’s hand with his own, soothing words on the tip of his tongue. Claude glares at him and Peter quickly withdraws.

“You think I need your pity, Pete?” Claude laughs and there is a note of cruelty that sets Peter’s teeth on edge. “Keep your sympathy to yourself; you’re gonna need it.” Claude rises from their tiny table and tosses his empty food container in the path of a cleaning drone. Claude walks out of the little plaza without a look back.

With a sigh, Peter rises and follows his temperamental protector.

Peter is still several steps behind him when Claude starts talking. “How d’ya do it? Do you just think about what you want Eclipse to do? Or do you stick your hand out and yell something stupid?” Claude glances back and Peter tries to stop the blush rushing to his cheeks. Claude laughs. “You’ve tried that, haven’t you?”

Peter swallows back an argument and settles for glaring at the older man.

Claude ignores him and starts down a side street. Peter follows him reluctantly; he’s starting to feel like some sort of furry pet chasing after his master. Claude leads them down dark streets and cramped passageways, exiting into a tiny square of land. It’s deserted, a place forgotten in the scurry of urban sprawl. Claude’s enforced roaming have given him an unparalleled knowledge of the city streets; he knows all the forgotten places. The square is a well, made of the adjacent backings of four buildings, open to the cold sky.

Claude is standing in the middle of the space, watching him with his arms folded. “How did you do it when you killed those thugs Deep Below?”

Peter flinches. An unexpected question, dredging up memories he’s tried not to think on. He killed three men when he first came Below. It’d been self-defense, but it weighed heavily on him. “I—“

“We don’t have time to worry about your feelings, Peter,” Claude snaps. “Tell me how you killed them.”

Peter looks up at the grey sky. “I just though about it. Pushed as hard as I could.” He looks down, meets Claude’s eyes. “I just let Eclipse move through me.”

Claude looks startled and then bites off a bark of laughter. “You just let it move through you? What are ya, a conduit? No wonder you killed people, if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Peter steps back, flinching as if he’d been struck. It had been an accident—it wasn’t his fault. At this moment, he hates Claude with a rage that burns his stomach and makes him clench his fists.

It must be obvious, because Claude’s expression gentles a notch. “It’s a program, Pete. It can’t do all the work for you; you’ve got to direct it. Otherwise it’s gonna leak around the edges of your control. And you do need to control it. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes,” Peter snaps.

Claude grins. “Good. Now fly.”

It’s not what he expected. “What?”

“You said you floated before. So do it now.”

“I can’t. I—“

“Thought you said you could handle this,” Claude cuts him off. “No self-control; that’s your problem.”

Peter huffs angrily and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. He can do this, he can. He shuts his eyes, concentrates. Breathes deep and finds the place inside of him he imagines Eclipse resides. Thinks, Fly. I want to fly. He thinks about the freedom of flight, remembers the feel of wind on his face. Tries desperately to think of anything that will help him get his feet of the ground.

He hears a sharp intake of breath and opens his eyes. Claude is staring at him, and for the first time he looks truly surprised. Peter looks down; he’s hovering at least a foot of above the ground. He grins and lets pride spark through him.

But as soon as he stops concentrating on flying, he stops flying.

Peter crashes to the ground, landing on his back and cracking his head on the pavement. He lies still, staring up at the sky and feeling his cheeks pink in embarrassment. That was certainly less than graceful. And Claude is laughing at him.

The man’s head is thrown back and the laugh is nothing short of a cackle. Peter realizes that he hasn’t heard Claude really laugh before. Condescending laughter maybe, but not pure enjoyment. Peter smiles; taking a tumble every so often might just be worth it to hear Claude laugh like that.

Claude sucks in great heaving breaths and tries to stop laughing. He’s still chuckling as he reaches down a hand to help Peter to his feet. Peter grasps Claude’s arm and is surprised to see something like respect in the man’s eyes.

Claude hauls Peter to his feet and there’s a breathless moment as they stand, arms twined, eyes locked.

It happens naturally, like gravity. One moment Claude is laughing at him, the next they’re kissing. Peter melts into it, and it’s slow like breathing and hotter than anything he has ever felt. Claude’s hands are on his hip and his shoulder and Peter’s clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping him on the ground. There’s fire and tongues and sliding lips and they’re breathing in each other. Then they pull apart, slowly, limbs still entangled, and they’re both panting. Claude pulls back and Peter steps out of his arms.

Claude just looks at him, and Peter can’t read anything from his face.

Finally, he looks away. “Come on, Peter. We should keep moving.”

\---

Bennet looks down from his Company office and he can see the whole of Manha spread before him. Somewhere out there is Peter Petrelli and Eclipse and, if his sources are right, they’re with Claude. Bennet sighs. When Claude was his partner—was his lover—he could have predicted the man’s every move; he can’t get a handle on them now. But, he supposes, that man died when the partner he trusted sold him out to the Company and left him for dead when his skinsuit short circuited. He’s probably learned a few new tricks in the past few years.

He cuts the melodramatic train of thought short as his data-specs flash an indicator for a callstream. With a sigh, Bennet drops into the Company Node and answers the call. He fights to keep a frown off his face when Thompson’s supercilious smile greets him.

“Hello, Bennet. How are you this morning?”

“Thompson,” he acknowledges. “I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” Thompson shrugs. “I’ve been talking to Niki and Jessica.”

The image of the callstream pulls back and now Bennet can see the twin blonde women standing behind Thompson. He tries to suppress his expression of distaste; he doesn’t like Niki, hates Jessica. The Sanders girls are killers to the bone, good for nothing but death. Putting them together with Thompson can lead to nothing good.

“Jessica has a lot to say about you,” Thompson adds.

I’m sure she does, Bennet thinks, as the fiercer twin scowls. His hatred for the woman is more than mutual.

“Of course, I’ve told her that this is your case now. You can handle it as you see fit.” Thompson glances to either Sanders twin. “As of this morning, the girls are off the case. I’m sure that will please you. It’s in yours and Parkman’s hands now to bring Eclipse in.”

Bennet nods guardedly. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do all we can.” He raises his hand to dismiss the callstream, but Thompson’s voice stops him.

“And Bennet,” Thompson’s grey eyes are as hard as flint, “I expect results.”

The callstream abruptly ends and Bennet is left floating alone in the ether of the Net. He sighs and signs off the Node, slipping back into physical reality.

At least he has scored a minor victory. Working with the Sanders girls would have lead to disaster. This job is too delicate to trust to brute force. He and Parkman will be able to handle this better on their own.

And maybe, this way, he can keep anyone from getting killed.

He heads home, feeling something like relief. For the first time since this whole thing began, Bennet walks into his apartment with a smile on his face.

“Dad?” Bennet looks up after sealing the door and sees Claire hovering nervously at the entrance to the common room.

“Yes, Claire-bear? Is something wrong?” Claire tugs on a lock of her hair and twirls it around her finger. Displacement activity, Bennet notes distractedly with a policeman’s eye; she has something on her mind.

Claire looks up and there is fear in her eyes. “Can we talk about something?” Bennet can tell from he voice that something is terribly wrong. He ushers her into the common room and sits her down on a couch. He waits patiently for his daughter to speak. It takes her a few moments to gather her courage, but when she starts to talk, it’s nothing like Bennet expected.

“I, uh, ran into this girl in the hallway this morning. She kinda bumped me into one of the light panels and the glass broke.”

Bennet frowns. The cost of the drone cleanup will, of course, be charged against him and probably astronomical. The father in him wants to ask if Claire’s all right, but she’s obviously physically fine. Bennet is also sure that Claire would stop altogether if he interrupted her now.

Claire pauses and stares down at her hands. “I cut my hand pretty badly.” She looks up, meeting his eyes. “And then it just healed– no blood, no scars, nothing. Like it never happened.”

Indescribable terror enters Bennet’s world, crashing over him like a dark wave.

Eclipse.

Bennet looks away, unable to meet his daughter’s eyes. He’s tried to be a good parent to her, but it’s been hard since Sandra left with Lyle and dissolved their marriage contract. He’s hasn’t been the best father to Claire: too many lies, too many secrets these days. He could lie to her now, ease her fears and leave her in the dark. But Bennet knows, after enough lies there won’t be any truth to come back to. He can’t keep this from her—shouldn’t try. Bennet sighs and meets his daughter’s anxious gaze.

“It’s a program. Eclipse. My bosses developed it. The program works through a subject’s skinsuit to unlock genetic potential. To elevate human possibility, as they put it. They’ve been experimenting with it for years. I don’t know how you were implanted with it, but this should have never happened.”

“Genetic potential,” Claire mutters. She looks at her hands again, this time with a speculative air. Then her head snaps up. “This shouldn’t have happened to me, right? So does that mean your bosses don’t know?”

Bennet nods. The only other possibility is too horrifying to consider: that this had been their plan all along, and that means that Claire is a mistake. Mistakes are not tolerated in Helix, they are terminated. His daughter’s life is in real peril if his bosses find about her newfound ability.

It’s not even a decision he realizes he’s making.

“We have to keep this hidden, Claire-bear. We could both be in a lot of danger if they find out about this.”

Claire pales and her eyes widen.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Claire tries to smile bravely and Bennet draws her into a reassuring hug.

He looks down at his little girl, realizing that he would do anything to keep her safe. Anything. He’d tear down the Conglomeration itself to protect her. He’d kill, he’d die. It’s no hardship to lie to keep her secret, especially when it keeps her away from men like Thompson and their projects.

Most of his life, his allegiance had been to the Company first, his family second. However, allegiances change. He loves his family with an undying devotion, and would do anything for them. He doesn’t owe Helix anything. Helix has never caused him anything but pain. He has compromised himself—been forced to do things he didn’t agree with, to answer the orders of a man he knows means no good. He lost Claude to the Company’s machinations, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to lose his daughter to them as well.

He had always thought of himself a supremely loyal company man.

He was wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter with actual sex.

Peter stares up into the dimness of their bolt hole. He turns his head to look at Claude, sleeping soundly on the other pallet. The other man looks almost at peace when he sleeps, though his nose and ears seem almost comically large when the rest of his face isn’t in motion. Peter manages to keep the smile off his face and he turns his head back to gaze at the ceiling. If he’s going to do it, it has to be now. It’s his best—only—chance.

He sits up quietly and crawls to the edge of the pallet. He tucks the small gun Claude gave him into his waistband and grabs his boots and jacket before getting up to slip soundlessly from the room. In the hallway, he shoves his feet into his boots and shrugs on the jacket. He clambers down the steps and exits the building.

It’s nearly an hour before dawn, and the streets are empty for once. Peter sighs with relief and slips into the alley beside the building. He ignores the garbage that would have shocked him mere days ago and takes a deep breath. Is he sure he wants to do this? Yes.

He raises his hand and activates his skinsuit. It’s been days since he used it last and the tingle of warming wires beneath his skin makes him shiver. The whole of the planetary net opens before him like a flower as he connects to the nearest node. He twists his hand in the gesture that invokes a call routine. “Nathan,” he says aloud, as he preps the message to his brother. Nathan will be surprised to get anything from this Deep Below, but Peter adds his individual priority codes to the callstream. That’ll make sure that his brother actually accepts the message, as well take it seriously.

He’s punched in the face before he can place the call.

Peter staggers backwards, falling to his knees and clapping a hand to his bleeding lip. Claude is standing over him, fists clenched and panting with fury. He doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know it’s twisted with rage.

“You’re out of your fucking mind, Peter!” he snaps. “Ya know they can track ya by that!”

Peter rockets to his feet, slamming Claude into the other side of the alley. “We don’t have a choice!” He snarls and curls his hands in Claude’s lapel. “Nathan has connections; he can help us! What else are we going to do? Just stay on the run, living in shit little places like this, stealing food and cash?”

Claude scowls and shoves him back. “I’ve had to live like that for five years. You think you’re better than that, that your Company bitch brother is gonna help you?” He growls out a laugh. “No one’s gonna want your shit dumped on their doorstep. No one will listen, no one will believe you, no one will help.”

Peter clenches his fist. “Yes! They will! My family will! They love me!”

Claude steps into Peter’s space, then slams his palm into his shoulder, knocking him back a few steps. “You got a rosy film over your eyes, just like a kid. This is really happening, mate! And the reality is: those people who love you; they’re no help, they’re just distractions.”

“The people I love are not distractions!” Peter lunges forward, swinging a fist at Claude’s face. The other man catches his fist easily and uses the leverage to twist Peter around, pinning him against the alley wall.

Claude grabs Peter’s other arm and pins it to the wall above his head, the other arm pinioned at his hip. “You need to listen to me, you idiot.”

“And I’m tired of you telling me what I have to do!” Peter snarls. “You don’t know anything. I don’t have to do anything—“

Then Claude kisses him.

It’s completely unexpected in this context and Peter goes rigid with shock. Sure, the man had kissed him earlier, but that had been gentle and natural. This, in the middle of a vicious fight… His lip is bleeding between them, and Claude’s body is lean and hard against his, pressing him against the rough concrete wall. Peter moans and leans into the kiss. Their tongues slide together, tasting and exploring. Claude’s hand around his wrist slides down to the back of his neck. Claude pulls away from the kiss, slowly, reluctantly, with a last nibble to Peter’s lower lip.

Peter stares at him for a second, confused. “I still—“

Claude sighs, rolls his eyes, and punches him again. Peter’s head snaps back against the wall with a painful crack. He slides to the ground and, as his visions start to go dark, he hears Claude mutter, “Idiot.”

\---

Nathan sits at his desk, mentally surrounded by the ethereal icons of the net. He composes a callstream through an anonymous mailer, encrypts the code and routes it through several nodes Below. It’s not perfect security, but it’ll have to do. Frankly, he thinks all the added protection is an unnecessary precaution, but his contact insists on it. The woman, who he knows only as Hana, has been a fount of information about goings-on Deep Below several times in the past, to their mutual benefit.

But, when he places the call, Hana doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even reach a secretary program. That makes him exceedingly nervous.

He calls several of his other contacts Below. His security protocols get increasingly sloppy, but he’s too anxious to worry about it. One never answers. The rest listen to his questions but answer only cagily. Obviously, word has gone out that Peter Petrelli is more trouble than he’s worth. With growing despair, Nathan realizes that none of his illicit connections will be able to help Peter.

He’s going to have to go through the Company. And that means going all the way to the top. Mister Linderman himself.

Resigned, Nathan finally places a call to the head of Helix’s police forces. A secretary program reads his priority codes and redirects his call to the office of a Mr. Thompson.

A smiling man with dead blue eyes answers Nathan’s call. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Petrelli?”

This is an insane plan. There’s little chance of success. The police force is too cunning. Even with the police aside, no one speaks to Mister Linderman without an invitation, which is something he certainly doesn’t have. But it is probably the only way he can help his little brother.

Nathan sighs. “I want to talk to you about Peter.”

\---

Peter wakes with a groan. Claude shoots him an amused look from his seat on his pallet, most of his attention focused inwards. Peter sees the white cord attached to Claude’s jack and wanders what the man is doing on the net.

But Peter’s attention is mostly occupied with the fact that he doesn’t hurt. He should, he definitely should. He got into a fight with a man quite a bit larger and stronger than he is. Claude punched him in the face twice, not to mention all the slamming into walls—they seem to do that fairly often. His head should be pounding and his back should be sore. He lifts a hand and gently probes his face. His eye doesn’t hurt and his lip is whole. He should have a split lip, he knows that; it was bleeding while Claude kissed him.

“Not even a black eye.” Claude grins at him, the cord disengaged from his jack and all his attention on Peter.

Peter props himself up on his elbows and returns his gaze.

“Good luck for you, no damage to that pretty face of yours.”

Peter starts to open his mouth to interject, but Claude just talks over him.

“That healing ability seems to work even in your sleep.” The man’s face is abruptly serious. “An autonomic reaction, like breathing. Wonder what that means for the rest of what you can do?”

Peter gapes at him. “What?” Claude asks defensively.

“You kissed me!” Peter splutters. “Then you punched me in the face! And all you can talk about is my abilities?”

Claude grins, showing his teeth. “Would you prefer I talk about something else, Peter?” Peter gulps and Claude throws back his head and laughs. Peter sits up, affronted. Claude lets his laugh gentle into a broad smile. “Don’t get all huffy.” He cocks his head to the side as he regards Peter, and Peter shifts uncomfortably under the intense stare. Claude crawls across the tiny space between the pallets and settles on his knees next to Peter. He takes Peter’s face in his hands and looks him in the eyes. “I’m going to kiss you again, Pete. How’s that?”

“O-okay.”

Claude smirks and leans in. He kisses Peter, gently, slowly. The kiss is no less thorough for all its tenderness and Peter gasps into the other man’s mouth. His hands come up to clutch at Claude’s forearms as he leans into him. He hears snatches of thought—Peter—so good. Peter moans as Claude’s thought echoes in his head—I want you, want you so much, can I have you?

Yes, yes, yes, Peter thinks as he drags Claude down to the pallet beside him. He winds his arms around the man’s shoulders, pulling him nearer. But he doesn’t want to be inside Claude’s head right now; it’s filled with old pain and the certainty that this will all come to tears. Peter draws away from the kiss, clenching his eyes shut until his awareness of Claude’s thoughts fades into nothing. Claude is watching his warily, but Peter just shakes his head. He pulls Claude back into his arms, drowning out everything with the feel of the man’s talented mouth and the heat of his body pressed against Peter’s.

After that, it’s all about desperation. Claude strips them both of their clothes, helping when Peter gets tangled in his buckles. Claude hands slide over Peter’s body; calluses catching on smooth skin.

Peter finally gets a good look at the damage the Eclipse program wrought on Claude’s body. His hands are nuskin, grown in a vat and grafted on. Peter can’t imagine how his hands must have looked; the intricate tracery of wires in the hands of every skinsuit would have burned off most of the skin, possibly even to the bone. Past the seam of old and nuskin, his forearms are scarred in the fine net of wires connecting the nerves and muscles beneath the skin. The scars on his forearms lead up to the single central line that Peter knows leads all the way to the back of his skull. Now that he’s paying attention, Peter can see a tiny ridge of more nuskin at the base of Claude’s neck and realizes that the skin of his face must have been replaced as well. Peter shudders. Eclipse sparked and raced through Claude’s skinsuit, the overwhelmed subcutaneous wires burning so hot that they broke the skin. And then to have to undergo major surgery with only what little medicine there is Below… Peter finally starts to understand just how much this man has gone through because of the Helix Company.

Peter runs his fingers over the lines and swirls of scars on Claude’s forearms. Claude’s eyes shutter and he watches cautiously as Peter ducks his head and drops kisses on the deeper pockmarks of the major nerve clusters. Peter lifts a hand to Claude’s cheek and the man’s eyes close as he turns his head away. Too much, too vulnerable to deal with.

Peter drags his hands to the safer territory of Claude’s chest. He draws Claude to him, their hips sliding together as Peter wraps his legs around the other man’s thighs. Peter’s hands tighten on his hips, pressing their bodies closer together. Claude moans and devours Peter’s mouth. Their tongues twine together as breaths mingle. Claude pulls back, sucking at Peter’s swollen lower lip.

Claude pants brokenly and Peter grins. He flips them over before the other man can react, Claude flat on his back and Peter hovering over him. Peter straddles him, and leans down to kiss Claude’s parted lips. It’s different now, harder, with tongues tangling and teeth clicking together. Claude’s hands are heavy on his back as their mouths move desperately together. Peter’s lips curve into a smile as one of Claude’s hands slips down his spine to grasp his ass.

He pulls away, gasping against Claude’s lips, then dips his head to press a sucking kiss against the man’s neck. Claude squirms deliciously beneath him, making Peter stop and lean his head on Claude’s shoulder, gathering the shreds of his control. He runs sure hands across the smooth planes of Claude’s chest and admires the stretch of unscarred skin. He slides down Claude’s body, anxious to leave his mark on all that unblemished skin.

Peter nips at Claude’s collarbone, sucking hungrily at each bite. Claude groans, head falling back on to the pallet. Peter grins and kisses up the long column of his throat. He sits back, admiring his handiwork, the little row of teeth marks surrounded by darkening bruises. Claude pulls his head down and kisses him again.

Peter loses himself in the soft heat of the kiss. One of Claude’s hands slides down his chest, thumb running almost idly across a nipple. Peter moans, tossing his head back; he reaches up one hand to push his hair back. He grins crookedly down at Claude and the man smiles.

Claude pushes him over, rolling Peter over on to his back. Peter lies back and waits, but Claude drags himself out of his embrace. Claude reaches to the end of the pallet and fumbles in his bag. He pulls out a packet of something—oil, Peter thinks—with a triumphant expression. He drops the packet next to Peter’s hip and swoops in for another kiss. He lies back down beside Peter, propping himself up on the bag, and pulls him back on top of him. Peter straddles him again and moans as their hard cocks slide slick and hot against each other.

Then Claude’s insistent hands are on his hips and Peter boosts himself up on his knees. He can hear the tearing of plastic as Claude rips open the packet of oil and Claude is touching him again, rough fingers slick on his skin. Peter moans as Claude slides a finger down his crease and pushes into him. Peter takes a deep breath and relaxes. It’s been months since he’s done something like this with anyone, long enough for it to be new and a little uncomfortable again. But he wants, oh, he wants this so much.

Peter pushes back as Claude presses a second slick finger inside him. He rests his palms on Claude’s chest, resisting the urge to touch himself. Claude slides a third finger in and twists; Peter moans desperately, hips jerking. He thrusts back against Claude’s hand, forgetting any discomfort.

Claude pulls his fingers out and Peter can’t help but whimper at the loss. Then Claude has on hand on his hip and the other on his own cock, positioning himself. Claude guides him on to his cock and Peter sinks down with a moan wrenched up from his gut. His head drops, chin pressed against his chest, eyes drifting closed. It’s too much, too fast; the sweet burn of being filled and he wants this so much, in ways that he shouldn’t. Claude plants his heels and thrusts up; Peter arches, hips twisting wildly.

He opens his eyes and finds himself locked in Claude’s gaze, and his eyes are bluer that any sky Peter’s ever seen. And then they’re moving together, all heated passion and measured violence. It’s just bodies, just flesh, not even connected through the net, but, oh, it’s the most intimate joining of his life. Claude’s hands slide up his body and wrap possessively around his waist. There’s a bead of sweat lingering on Claude’s upper lip and Peter can’t resist leaning down and licking it away.

Claude wraps his arms around him and rolls them over. Peter gasps at the change in angle and wraps his legs around Claude’s waist. Claude kisses him fiercely; their movements change, the pace becoming harder and faster. Peter is panting and gasping on every exhale. Claude’s over him and in him and it’s so good, too good. Peter moans desperately, “I love y—“

Claude snarls and kisses him into silence, bruising Peter’s lips. Peter whimpers, surprised and strangely aroused. Claude slips a hand between them and grips Peter’s erection and there’s no more room for thought. There’s just the two of them moving together; Claude thrusting into him, his hand on his cock, and their sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other. Peter’s eyes close and he tips his head back, groaning. Claude’s mouth is at his ear, panting hot and wet as he thrusts jerkily into Peter. Claude squeezes, twists his hand on him, and Peter is crying out Claude’s name. The world explodes around him in a supernova of heat and light.

Peter shivers in the aftermath, body over-sensitized and sated. Claude is propped up over him, leaning on one elbow. His face is closed off, his eyes dark and serious. Peter can’t read anything from him, and feels a cold shock of apprehension. Then the mask breaks and Peter can see fear and desperation and sorrow and something almost gentle in his lover’s eyes. Claude abruptly looks away.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever.”


	9. Chapter 9

Peter shivers awake and finds himself alone in bed. He opens his eyes and sits up, blanket pooling around his bare hips.

Claude is standing over the opposite bed, fully dressed and repacking their bags. He turns at the sound of Peter’s awakening. A tiny hint of a bruise is visible from the opening in his shirt, and Peter struggles to hold back a grin.

“It’s about time. Get dressed, we’re moving again.” Claude tosses a pile of clothes to Peter nonchalantly.

Peter’s smile falls. He swallows a sigh and struggles into the many layers of Below clothing. He should know better than to expect Claude to be anything but business-like. The first morning, the first time they’d been together, he’d woken up expecting some sort of acknowledgement from the other man. Three mornings later, and he was still disappointed.

Peter is pulling on his boots when Claude throws one of the bags at him, nearly knocking him over. Claude laughs and steps out into the hall. Peter just glares and follows him.

The streets are fairly quiet, painted with the thin light of dawn. Peter trots along at Claude’s side as they navigate the streets of the Jian sector. They twist and turn between gray buildings tagged with holographic graffiti.

Claude is all business, doing all he can to lose any possible pursuit. He walks quickly, jaw clenched and eyes trained directly in front of him.

Peter frowns. He knows that Claude is a professional and he appreciates everything Claude has done to keep him safe. He just wishes that Claude would open up more often, show him more of the man he’s seen these last few nights.

They turn quickly into another street and Peter suddenly gasps as something pricks him in the neck. He raises a hand and finds two tiny metal spars imbedded in his skin. He whips around to face his attackers.

Two men in Helix Company uniforms – guards from On High – are a few yards behind them. One has a tranquilizer gun still raised in their direction. The rest of the people on the street give them a wide berth, allowing the two men a clear shot.

Claude curses and shoves Peter behind him. He pulls out a pistol and fires off a few diversionary shots, scorching the asphalt and making the guards dive for cover. Claude hauls Peter into a nearby alleyway.

They lean against the wall and Claude pulls a handheld laser cannon out of his bag. He turns to Peter for a second. “You okay, Pete?”

Peter is having a little trouble breathing, but he nods. Claude ducks around the corner and fires more shots down the street. Peter is grateful to see that all the civilians have cleared off the street, even if it means no possibility for a distraction. He ducks reflexively as laser shots singe the other side of the alley and the concrete at its mouth. His head is spinning. Claude starts to turn and fire back, but Peter grabs his arm.

“Let me try,” he pants.

Claude looks at him and then nods.

Peter closes his eyes and concentrates. He reaches one hand around the corner and lets Eclipse flow through him.

Blue lightning screams through the street, cracking asphalt and exploding stalls. Claude hugs Peter to him and pulls them further back into the alley. The lightning ricochets off the walls before it finally dies.

“Fuck, Peter!” Claude curses. “Give some warning next time!”

Peter clings to Claude and tries to make his legs work. He feels like cursing himself. He can’t feel his fingers anymore and his knees are refusing to work properly. He’s not weak, dammit! He doesn’t need to be rescued! But his body disagrees, and he starts to slowly slide down the wall.

Claude catches him and lowers him to the ground. “Peter?”

Peter can feel himself starting to sweat and coughs.

Claude tilts Peter’s head back and catches a glimpse of the silvery darts in his neck. “A sedative. Fucking Bennet…”

Peter shakes his head in confusion; his vision is starting to darken.

“Come on, Peter,” Claude pleads. “You have to stay with me.”

The guards are at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the street lights. Peter thrusts his hand out, shoving with his mind. He only has enough to strength to throw back one, the one with the glasses. Peter claws at consciousness, hanging on long enough to see the remaining guard level his gun at Claude’s head. Then everything goes dark.

\---

Bennet struggles to his feet. It’s been a while since the last time he was tossed into a wall. Peter Petrelli is more powerful and much more dangerous than they’d expected. It was a miracle that they’d managed to tag the boy with a sedative before they had to face him. With Peter at full strength, they probably wouldn’t have survived the encounter. Bennet resettles his data-specs on the bridge of his nose and realizes that he’s just delaying the inevitable.

He looks at Claude for the first time in years.

The passage of time hasn’t been kind to his former partner and lover. Claude is on the gaunt side of lean, whip-cord thin. His hair is very short in the Below style; Bennet remembers when it was long and full. His face is hardened and weathered, lined with pain and years. But, considering that the last time Bennet saw Claude his skinsuit was burning him from the inside out, he appears remarkably untouched. Now that he’s looking for it, Bennet can see the seam of grafted nuskin at Claude’s wrists and neck. He feels a stab of remorse. He caused this, made Claude into the man he is now.

Bennet makes the mistake of meeting Claude’s eyes as Matt slaps the laser cuffs on him. Claude is glaring at him, his eyes blazing with hatred. Bennet looks away. He leans down and hoists the unconscious Peter over his shoulder. He’s shocked at how light the boy is. The boy is a powerhouse, but he can’t be that much bigger than Claire. Claude glares at him harder, if that’s possible. He is very protective, isn’t he? And that’s … very interesting.

The walk back to their Company issued ship is a short one, for which Bennet is very grateful. Claude has always been resourceful and any longer probably would have seen him making an escape attempt. But Claude doesn’t resist when Matt walks him up the ramp, down the hall, and into the single cell at the back of the ship. Claude waits with an expression that Bennet can only call anxious as he enters and sets Peter down on the narrow bunk. Claude immediately kneels at the boy’s side, checking his pulse, completely heedless of the cuffs on his own wrists.

Matt locks the cell door as soon as Bennet exits. The whole wall is tempered steel-glass, unbreakable; as soon as the door locks, the sheet of glass becomes solid, the entrance sealed in its crystalline structure. Matt beckons Claude up to the only gap in the glass. Claude sticks his wrists through as Matt disengages the laser cuffs and removes them.

“Hello, Claude,” Bennet says softly. Claude doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him, just turns away and returns to Peter’s side.

Bennet swallows and tries not to feel any pain at the rejection. He can never have back what he once had with Claude, he knows that, but it hurts nonetheless. Bennet thinks back, six years, seven, to the last time he saw Claude – a scorched figure slumped on the dirty pavement, dead, if not by Bennet’s hand then by his inaction.

 _Thompson brought him into his office, a fortress of glass and steel overlooking the whole of On High. He explained everything to Bennet, the development of Eclipse, its purpose for recon among the other Companies. He explained why Claude was the perfect candidate. Bennet resisted, quietly offering other solutions. Thompson just smirked and said that he had made his decision. Later that day, Claude’s skinsuit malfunctioned and he went in for a quick maintenance surgery. Claude came out smiling, never knowing that he’d just become a human experiment._

 _Nothing happened for several days. They had been on patrol together Below when Eclipse finally activated. Claude staggered into an unlit alley, retching and doubled over in pain. Claude stared in horror as his hands began to disappear, becoming invisible. He panicked, yelling and clutching his head. Moments later his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground._

 _Bennet rushed to his partner’s side, fumbling to feel for a pulse. He snatched his hand back; Claude’s skin was burning hot. He stared in horror as dark lines emerged below Claude’s skin and the alley filled with the revolting stench of burning flesh. He had heard of this, urban legends of skinsuits short circuiting, the wires overheating until they burnt a person alive from the inside out. Bennet scrambled backwards as his unconscious partner suddenly screamed. Claude convulsed in pain, his hands clawing at his face, arms, the back of his skull, leaving long bloody furrows in his desperation._

 _Bennet backed away, terrified and helpless. The screaming stopped and he fled._

 _He called Thompson, nearly in hysterics, but the man took the news without a flinch. When Claude’s deadman switch went off a short time later, Thompson called the experiment a limited success and gave Bennet a promotion. That was the day Bennet really learned what kind of monster he worked for._

Matt tosses him a concerned look as they enter the ship’s bridge. Bennet shakes his head, trying to smile for Matt’s sake. He stands at Matt’s shoulder as his partner runs through the ship’s warmup sequence. Parkman’s the pilot; Bennet has always been a lousy driver. His job, the capture of fugitives, is over. Bennet frowns—he’d never thought he would have to hunt down one of his own, a fellow policeman. Especially not Claude, his friend, his lover for an all-too-short time. How had things come this far?

The ship is small, just the bridge, galley and common room, two cabins, and the large glassed-off cell at the rear. Looking back from the helm, Bennet can see straight into the cell. Claude is standing with an arm pressed against the glass, watching him, face unreadable. Bennet sighs; the confrontation will have to have sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner. He shares a glance with Parkman, jerking his head towards the cell. Matt nods, silently acknowledging him. He may not know exactly what’s going on, but Parkman can always tell when something is bothering his partner. Bennet smiles encouragingly at him; he works better with Matt than he has with anyone since Claude.

It’s just a few yards, but the walk down the white plasteel hall feels like miles. He stops a few feet from the glass and folds his arms defensively. Claude will attack first; it’s always been his way, except Claude isn’t even looking at him now, just staring straight ahead. Bennet takes the reprieve to visually check on Peter. The boy is curled up on the bunk, face pale and slack. Bennet feels a frisson of shock; he looks so very young, barely older than Claire. He reminds himself that Peter is a danger to everyone on this ship; as long as the boy’s sedated, he can’t use his Eclipse abilities. He’s harmless for now. The ship’s computer tells him that the boy’s heartbeat and breathing are regular, normal sleep patterns, but Bennet knows not to trust everything to technology.

He glances back, and Claude has caught him staring. His face is impassive, but his eyes are sharp and cold. The way he’s glaring—if he didn’t know Claude better, he’d think it was defensive.

Claude nods past to him, to the silent bulk of Matt at the helm. “Nice new partner you got there, Bennet.” His eyes, bluer than Bennet remembers, flick to his face. “How long before you kill him too?”

So it’s to be straight to business. “That’s not fair, Claude.”

Claude stands up straight and lets out a bark of laughter. “It’s not? You’ve only killed the one partner, then?” He leans forward. “Does that make me special to you?” That’s Claude, ruthless and shooting straight for his weaknesses.

“You know you were.”

Claude grins, a slightly crazed look crossing his face. “That didn’t stop you when the kill order came down.”

Bennet’s mouth tightens and his stomach clenches. “It wasn’t a kill order. You know I wouldn’t have—”

“You killed me, Bennet,” Claude shrugs, talking over him. “However you want to put it, you let them cut me open and stick an untested program in my brain. And then you left me for dead in a stinking alleyway. When I needed you most, you ran.” Claude turns partly away, refusing to look at him. “They played with my body like I was a lab rat! And you let them!”

Bennet recoils, stepping back in the face of the other man’s rage. “Thompson ordered it! I didn’t have a choice!”

Claude whirls around. “You always had a choice, Noah!”

Bennet couldn’t have been more startled if Claude has slapped him in the face. The use of his name is a deliberate insult, reminding him what they once were to each other.

“You could have said no!”

Bennet scowls. “And go on the run, like you? What about my family, Claude? Was I supposed to shame them, leave them without support?”

Claude looks away. “You could at least have told me I was carrying a fucking time bomb, Noah.”

“You have to believe me, Claude. I didn’t know how dangerous it was.”

Claude scowls as him through the glass. “And you never did ask, did you?” This time, it is Bennet who looks away. “It was easier not to know.” Claude stares at him for long, uncomfortable minutes, and Bennet has never been more aware of his guilt and shame. “Just go away, Bennet.” When he doesn’t move, Claude lunges at the glass, growling, “Noah, leave!”

Bennet turns away and sulks back to his sparse and empty quarters. He sinks down onto the narrow bunk and drops his head into his hands. He let Helix destroy a man’s life and never said a word against it. Left a man for dead when he needed help. Wrecked everything he had worked for his entire life and forced him to become a fugitive. Worse, that man was a friend, was a lover, was Claude. Bennet has never regretted the past more than he did now.

He looks up and reaches into the ship’s net, activating the video feed from the cell. It’s a masochistic urge, but Bennet was always one for penance. The video blooms across his mind. Claude lies beside the boy on the bunk, the two bodies yearning each to each. Claude reaches up and brushes back an errant strand of hair from Peter’s forehead. The boy, still drugged and more than half asleep, drags the hand down to lace their fingers together. Bennet spares a moment to be thankful that at least the sedative they gave Peter is still working. Claude stares at their entwined hands, tangled fingers like tatters of fabric straining towards wholeness. A strange expression flits across Claude’s face – Bennet thinks it might be fear – before his face gentles into a small half-smile. The smile strikes, pricks, and pierces at him until he realizes that, in the seven years he knew him, Bennet never saw Claude look happier.

Bennet waves away the video, pain clenching his stomach.

It hurts him that Claude is so happy as a fugitive, even if he’s imprisoned, with this spoiled little boy. Seven years, and Claude is happier now. Bennet thinks his heart might be breaking. What he and Claude had—whatever it was, for the short time they had it—was casual at best, based on friendship. He saw the way Peter looks at Claude, the way Claude looks back.

It is love, Bennet realizes, a true and strange one. A low-born man, betrayed and broken and running, and a high-born boy, bright and foolish and naïve. Bennet doubts that it ever would have happened on its own, but Eclipse has bound these two, each and both, thrown them together and made them stronger than anything Helix could have ever predicted. With Peter’s remarkably adept abilities and Claude’s tactical mind, they could be a force to be reckoned with, a serious threat to everything that Helix had made on this planet. Bennet feels a spark of pleasure at that and frowns. He is loyal to Helix, still deplores their politics.

But… to turn Claude back over to them, after everything that Company has done to him, is a betrayal greater than any that came before. Claude will be kept in a cell the rest of his life after he’s given them everything he knows, if they decide to let him live. And Peter…he doesn’t even know what’ll they do to Peter. It’s wrong, this whole thing is wrong. He should just turn this ship around, let them go— No, he’d never get away with it. Helix will never stop hunting them.

But now there’s Claire to think about.

He’s going to need a backup plan.


	10. Chapter 10

Helix Company security is waiting for them as soon as they land in the hangar of the Company’s headquarters. Bennet steps down the ship’s ramp into the hangar, a little nonplussed at the bristling ring of armed guards around their transport.

“Whoa,” Parkman remarks quietly behind him.

Thompson steps out of the midst of the guards, ignoring the vast arsenal of weapons pointed at his employees. “Bennet, Parkman, welcome home. You have the prisoners?”

Bennet doesn’t answer, and Parkman brushes past him. “Of course, sir. We’re ready to transfer them whenever you are.”

“That would be now, Parkman,” Thompson says slowly and Bennet can see Matt flush. “Any problems?”

Matt glances at Bennet, then answers for him. “No, sir.”

Thompson smiles. “Good.” He turns to the guards and motions them into the ship. “I trust the Petrelli boy is still sedated?”

Bennet chokes down his emotions and answers, “We’ve kept him that way since we captured them.”

The transport is briefly filled with the sounds of a struggle.

Bennet turns, his heart in his throat, not even really knowing what he’s hoping for.

Then Claude is marched down the ramp; one of the guards holds a handgun to the soft skin under his skin, the others train heavy rifles on his every move. Two more guards escort Peter, his limp body floating on a grav-stretcher.

Claude glares at Bennet, his eyes full of rage and betrayal.

Bennet looks away, inarticulate emotion clawing at his chest.

Claude transfers the glare to Thompson as he is walked past them; Thompson smiles beneficently, as though welcoming a long-lost friend.

At Thompson’s nod, Parkman follows the sad procession out of the hangar.

“You did well, Bennet.” Thompson smiles and Bennet’s skin crawls. “And it’s just as well. Now we can release Claire to you.”

“What?”

Thompson waves a hand dismissively. “It’s standard practice in situations like this. We take…precautions to make sure that everything goes smoothly. Now that there’s nothing to worry about, there’s no need to keep Claire here. Once everything’s settled, of course.”

Bennet exhales, trying not to reveal just nervous he is.

“Except,” Thompson cocks his head and fear grips Bennet’s chest. “How does Claire know the name Eclipse?”

Bennet freezes, but only for a moment. “I think that’s what they’re calling one of those Net games that’s popular now, isn’t it?”

Thompson stares at him for a long uncomfortable minute. “I’m sure it is.” Thompson smiles, showing his perfect white teeth.

\---

Peter wakes up and, for a moment, he thinks he’s home. The bright sun is shining through wide windows; he’s resting on a comfortable bed, on clean soft sheets.

“Peter?”

Looks up into Claude’s worried face and the world roars back. He tries to sit up, but finds his limbs are too heavy to move. “Claude,” he whispers, voice hoarse with sleep, “why can’t I move?”

Claude reaches out, tucks a strand of Peter’s hair behind his ear; Peter realizes that the edges of his vision are clouded, leeched of color.

“It’s the chemicals they’re pumping into ya. They want to make sure ya can’t use Eclipse against them.”

Peter turns his head, catches sight of a girl, worry etched on her pretty young face, watching them from the other side of the room. She’s tucked into one of the chairs, curled in on herself. She meets his eyes and offers a tentative smile. “Hello,” she says quietly.

“Hello,” Peter answers back. “I’m Peter. Who’re you?”

“I’m Claire. Claire Bennet.”

Peter stares at her; Claude’s head snaps around. Shock flashes across the older man’s face, followed by anger, fear, and sorrow. The emotions vanish quickly and what remains Peter can only call recognition, perhaps regret.

Claire notices it too, and looks at Claude quizzically. “I know you, don’t I? I just can’t remember where from…”

Claude sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “I was your dad’s partner once. But that was a long time ago.”

Peter swallows his gasp; he’d known Claude had a history with their captor, but hadn’t guessed it went that deep.

Claire’s brow furrows prettily. “…Claude?” she ventures.

Claude’s gaze snaps to the girl’s face. “You remember me?”

“I think so,” she frowns. “A little. You looked different then.”

Claude looks away. “I was different then.”

Peter looks at his lover, wishing he could move, could comfort Claude in some way. “Why are you here, Claire?” he asks instead.

Claire starts to speak, but Claude waves her into silence, pointing at the fixture in the ceiling. Peter catches sight of the flash of a red pinlight, the malevolent eye of a camera.

“I don’t know.” Claire smiles, a small sad smile. “I’m a just a girl.”

\---

Bennet glances behind him as he enters his office, and is relieved to see he hasn’t been followed. He sits down at his desk, heaves in a steadying breath. The call he’s about to make will cost him his career, his position, everything. But to not make it would be unthinkable, would mean leaving Claire to the non-existent mercy of Helix Company.

And, if he owes Claude anything, and he does, he owes the man a fighting chance.

He drops in the Net and composes the callstream. He wraps it in layers of highest level encryption, bounces it through several nodes. At the last, he adds his emergency codes to the message. A moment of breathless anticipation, and then a light flashes as his call is accepted.

Nathan Petrelli’s face blooms across his vision.

“What do you want,” Nathan snaps, voice terse with anger.

“Helix has your brother, Mr. Petrelli.”

Nathan freezes, his face blank with shock. “No,” he says; a soft sound, a plea, a denial.

Bennet nods. “Here at headquarters. Thompson has him. You know what he’ll do to him; you’ve seen it done before.”

Nathan frowns, shakes his head. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I can help you get your brother out.” Nathan stares at him; shock turning to calculation.

“Why the change of heart, Bennet?”

Bennet looks down. “They have my daughter.” He looks up, meets Nathan’s eyes. “I need your help.”

\---

Peter stumbles down the hall, experiencing the glass-steel journey in dizzying flashes. There are guards to either side, Claude behind and Claire in front. A gun is pressed to the small of his back.

Bennet steps in front of him, meets his eyes; Peter’s reflection is strangely overlaid on horn-rimmed glasses.

Peter hisses in pain as Bennet jabs a small needle against the side of his neck. Claude lunges at him, but the guards drag him back.

“I’m sorry,” Bennet whispers and walks him into the room.

It’s a strange room for an interrogation, Peter thinks muzzily. Bright and sunny with huge windows, empty save for three chairs and a table. A man, silhouetted against the sun; he walks toward them. Benign smile that doesn’t reach his malevolent blue eyes. Smiling and watching as the guards seat them in the stark chairs.

A guard presses another needle against Peter’s neck and suddenly, his world dissolves in pain. Writhes against laser-cuffs and curls in on himself. Fire is racing through his veins; he closes his mouth on an agonized scream and clenches his eyes tightly shut. The pain fades slowly, drains from his body in sickening waves. He slumps in his chair, head hanging, panting for breath. Reality floats back in a haze of images and sound: the guard checking the dosage of the needle, Claire’s voice worried in his ears, Claude’s eyes filled with fear.

A hand grabs his chin, forces his head up; Peter finds himself staring into the face of his captor. “Hello, Peter,” the man smarms. “Welcome back to the world. I hope that wasn’t too painful for you.” The man smiles. “I’m Mr. Thompson.”

Peter stares at him for a long moment, not quite thinking clearly yet.

Thompson pulls away, turns his smile on Claude. “Hello, Claude.”

“Fuck you, Thompson,” Claude snarls.

Thompson’s smile broadens. “You haven’t changed a bit.” He straightens. “Wouldn’t you agree, Bennet?”

“Yes, sir.” Bennet’s face is impassive, but Peter can see the tightening at the edge of his lips. Bennet is not looking at Thompson, but watching his daughter.

Thompson turns to face his employee. “Oh, don’t worry, Bennet. I just wanted to ask your daughter a few questions. She’s in no danger.”

Claire glares at him. Thompson reaches out and pats her on the head; Claire ducks away from the touch, disgust twists her features.

Thompson’s smile hardens, turns brittle. “Feisty little thing, isn’t she?”

Thompson turns back to Peter. “You come from a good family, you went to a good school, you wanted to go to medical school. You had nothing to fear from the Company, Peter. So why did you run from us?”

Peter glares up at the man; remembers the fear and confusion he felt at being followed. “I didn’t know what was going on. All I knew was that I wasn’t safe.”

Thompson shakes his head sadly. “You were much safer here On High. Look at the crowd you fell in with: terrorists, criminals.” He slants a meaningful look at Claude. “You had such a promising future, Peter, and you’ve thrown it all away.”

Peter looks away, and Thompson shifts gears at dizzying speed, rounding on Claude. “What did you do with the program?”

Claude gives him a blank stare. “I don’t know what yer talking about.”

“Don’t try to play dumb with me, Claude,” Thompson hisses, smile turning ugly. “I know you. I know you made copies of the damn thing. Now I want to know what you did with them.” Claude says nothing and Thompson’s smile cracks into a scowl. “And who was your contact this time? You must’ve had help; we’ll find out who eventually, but it will go better for you all if you tell me now.”

Claude lets out a sarcastic bark of laughter. “If I tell ya, are ya going to let me go?”

Peter watches Thompson carefully, but the man’s face shows nothing whatsoever.

“I didn’t think so. And you’re certainly not going to let Peter go, not with what he’s carrying. There’s no incentive to talk here, Thompson. Then again,” Claude’s grin is razor sharp, “You never did know how to negotiate. Guess that’s why you’re still stuck on this little world, instead of with the big brass on a Central planet.”

Thompson whirls away, facing the windows. Peter can see the man visibly controlling himself, reining in his anger.

Claude continues, “What happened to Hiro Nakamura?”

Thompson freezes, almost imperceptibly. He answers without looking away from the windows. “Mr. Nakamura is currently enjoying Helix Company’s hospitality in the reform colony on Oztraly.”

The way he says it… Peter’s stomach lurches as he realizes that it is a lie. And that means that Hiro, the man who helped is, is most likely dead. Peter struggles to keep the grief from reaching his face, refusing to let these people see any weakness.

Thompson turns back, the flat smile in place again. The interrogator crouches in front of Claire, adopts a friendly manner. “How do you know the name Eclipse, Claire? You just have to tell me what you know, and we can forget all about this; you can back to your life. If you don’t, well…” He shrugs.

“I don’t know anything,” Claire spits out. For some reason, that makes Thompson smile.

“Well, since none of you are going to be cooperative, we’ll have to resort to…alternative measures.”

Thompson sets a plain, black box in front of them, a circular green sigil emblazoned on the box’s side. Peter blanches, recognizes a Silent Guardian. He’s never seen one before, only heard rumors. Torture through nerve induction; agony that leaves no marks, causes no damage. No one withstands it. He’ll break, they’ll break; and God, _Claire_. She’s just a kid, shouldn’t even be here.

He glances sideways; Claude’s jaw is clenched, faced determined, but there is panic in his eyes. Claire is looking at her father. Bennet’s façade has finally cracked, and there is fear on his face.

Thompson grins, caresses the box absently. “Now how should we do this? One of you at a time, or all together?” He looks at Claire; the girl raises her chin and meets his stare head-on. “Or maybe the little girl should go first.”

Bennet shifts, hand rising involuntarily towards his gun; Claude strains against his bonds, glaring in impotent hatred.

Rage fills Peter, spills out of him. He looks down; sparks are dancing on his fingertips, ringing his hands with a faint blue nimbus. He looks up, and meets Bennet’s eyes. And suddenly the game has changed.

From behind him, Peter hears the door hiss open, and a cultured voice calls out, “That’s enough, Thompson.”

Mister Linderman has arrived.


	11. Chapter 11

“It’s good to see you, Mister Linderman,” Thompson recovers smoothly, smiling brightly.

“What is this,” an imperious—and familiar—voice demands.

Peter twists in his chair, pulling awkwardly to see behind him. “Mom?”

Angela Petrelli smiles, “Peter.” She is elegant as ever, her arm hooked daintily through Linderman’s.

Peter has never met the man himself before, and is rather shocked to find the head of Helix to be kind and fatherly-looking.

Angela pulls away from her escort, gestures imperiously at the guards. “Release my son at once.” The guards jump to do her bidding, and Peter stands, rubbing his sore wrists. Angela comes forward and takes his hands. “I’m so sorry, dear. This whole thing has been a big misunderstanding.”

Peter looks toward his fellow prisoners; Claire looks confused, Claude’s face is terribly blank. “What about them?”

Angela waves a hand, turns to the guards. “Let the girl go. We’re not savages. The man, too.” Thompson starts to protest, but Angela cuts him off with a look. “Leave the cuffs on him, if that makes you feel better. But for God’s sake, let the man stand up.”

The guards release Claire and she runs to her father, who envelopes her in a crushing embrace. The guards keep their guns trained on Claude as they release him. They let him stand, then cuff his hands in front of him again. Peter looks to his lover, but Claude won’t meet his eyes.

“This whole operation had been handled terribly.” Angela’s voice drags Peter’s attention back to his mother.

“What are you talking about?”

“They were just supposed to keep an eye on your development,” she slants a look at Thompson. “They certainly weren’t supposed to terrify you into becoming a fugitive.”

Peter shakes his head, his mind not quite keeping up with her words, and not wanting to.

“I chose you for this, Peter. We chose you. You were always special. You were meant to do this,” her voice dreadful in its earnestness.

Linderman comes up behind her, lays a hand on her shoulder.

Peter pulls his hands away, suddenly full of terrible certainty. “You planned this. You made this happen.”

Linderman steps forward. “Of course. You’re a very special young man. We’ve known that since you were very young. You are the best—the only—candidate for this. You’re going to lead Helix Company into the future, Peter.”

“Ma? Peter?”

Peter’s head whips around.

Nathan stands in the doorway, face contorted in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Nathan—“ Peter tries to stop his brother, but Angela interrupts ruthlessly.

“Peter’s been given a special assignment by Mister Linderman.” She smiles, eyes hard and almost daring Peter to disagree. “Isn’t that right, Peter?”

Peter meets his mother eyes. “She’s lying, Nathan. They put a rogue program in my skinsuit. They’ve been planning this for years.” He looks over and watches Nathan’s face. “I don’t know what they want exactly, but it’s not good.”

Angela opens her mouth to argue, but Nathan shoots her a hard-eyed look that closes her mouth with a click.

“I trust you, Pete,” Nathan says, crossing to his side.

Angela deflates, her shoulders sagging. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I never intended to let it get this far.”

Claude’s harsh laugh breaks the tableau. “You really don’t know how far it’s gone then. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You’d be long gone by now.”

Thompson snarls at him to shut up, but Linderman cuts him off with a gesture. “What do you mean, Mr. Raines?”

“Your torturer here,” Claude jerks his head at Thompson, “wanted to know what we did with the copies of your program. I’d be happy to tell you, since you asked so nicely ‘n all.” He grins. “We hid it. Where anyone and everyone can get at it.”

Linderman starts to speak, but then a look of horrified comprehension dawns across his face.

Claude smirks. “That’s right. It’s in the automatic update.”

Angela blanches, her hand rising to her throat. “How—how many people—?”

“Millions,” Linderman croaks.

“More,” Claude laughs. “We sent it to as many planets as we could. All across the Conglomeration, people are downloading Eclipse. It’s out of your control now. Nothing you can do to stop it.”

Angela and Linderman turn to each other, a desperate huddle. “What do we do now?” Angela asks, voice sharp and cold.

Linderman shakes his head. “I—I don’t know—“

Claude interrupts with a smile. “There’s one last thing I forgot to mention. We sent a callstream ‘specially to the Ruling Council.”

Angela staggers backwards; Linderman’s face turns cold and hard.

“Eclipse, everything. They’ve got all the evidence they need to shut down Helix. And you.” Claude meets Linderman’s eyes. “This is usually the part where you start running.”

Angela looks panicked; a ferocious snarl crosses Linderman’s placid face. “We need to go, Daniel,” Angela says, pulling at Linderman’s arm.

Linderman doesn’t move. “We should tie up loose ends,” he says, almost to himself. Angela stares at him in disbelief. “Cover our tracks.” Linderman pulls a small gun from his jacket pocket, his hand hanging at his side. He looks unblinkingly at Peter.

Nathan steps in front of Linderman. “That’s not going to happen, sir.”

Thompson scowls, drawing his gun and pointing it at Nathan. “Step away from Mister Linderman. Now.” He cocks the gun.

There is a long breathless moment; Bennet whips around and punches his superior. Thompson staggers back, and Bennet tears the gun from his hand. The guards hesitate, just long enough for Bennet to turn to Claude and disengage the cuffs around his wrists.

Claude pushes Claire to the floor, keeping out of the line of fire.

Peter turns to the guards, pulls the power of Eclipse through his body. He grins at the guards, orbs of deadly electricity dancing in his hands. They raise their guns; he gestures, sending two bolts of electricity arcing across the room. Two men yell and fall back; the smell of burning meat fills the room.

Behind him, Claude yells, “Noah! Gun, now!”

Peter half-turns and sees their former captor toss Claude a laser.

Claude immediately fires, the shot ringing out uncomfortably close.

Peter looks back, and finds himself staring into the muzzle of the gun Thompson had pointed at his back.

Thompson looks at Claude, and then drops to the floor, a hole scorched through his throat.

A noise behind him, and Peter whips back to the contingent of guards.

Bennet’s partner is watching them all with an expression of angry confusion. The man—Parkman, Peter thinks—meets his eyes and levels a gun at him.

Peter doesn’t hesitate, _pushes_ the man back with all of Eclipse’s power. Parkman flies back and hits the wall with a sickening thud; Peter doesn’t worry whether or not he’s dead. He flings bolts of electricity at the guards, death sizzling and crackling from his hands.

Shots ring out and Peter flinches. To his relief, two more guards drop. He looks up, and finds himself flanked on either side by Claude and Bennet.

Claude grins, and fires a barrage at their opponents.

“Stop this. Now.” Linderman’s quiet, urbane voice breaks through the thunder of fire.

Peter freezes, sparks clinging to his hands.

Linderman’s gun is pointed at Nathan’s head.

“All of you. Over by the windows.”

Linderman motions with the gun and Peter falls back, feeling Eclipse’s power fading. Claude glances at Peter, then moves with him, Bennet following.

Claire, crouched on the floor, doesn’t move. Her face is white and her eyes are focused on the gun.

“Now, you’re all going to stand right there. Angela and I are going to leave, and you’re not going to try to stop us. And if you try to follow us, my men will riddle each and every one of you with holes. Is that clear?”

Peter nods, staring at Nathan. Claude stares back at Linderman mulishly.

Linderman’s eyes slant sideways. “Angela?”

Angela nods, looking shaken. She meets Peter’s eyes and he might almost say she looks sorry.

Angela and Linderman begin backing towards the door, the guards’ raised guns covering their retreat.

"Ma—" Nathan steps forward, his hand outstretched.

Linderman’s finger tightens on the trigger of his gun, and a single shot explodes.

Angela screams, sharp and strident. Peter cries out, uselessly reaching out his hands.

Claire moves faster than them both. She barrels into Nathan, knocking him out of the path of the laser. The shot hits her full in the chest.

Claire’s body crumples to the ground.

Bennet stares, face frozen in horror. Then his eyes focus on Linderman, his gun extended, still smoking. Bennet leaps across the space between them. He knocks the gun aside and punches Linderman in the face. He bears the man to the ground, raining blows on his face and body. Linderman laughs, gurgling blood. Bennet—

The sonic boom shakes the room as the doors burst inward.

Armed men in dark armored uniforms race in, guns covering every angle. “Nobody move!”


	12. Chapter 12

“Nobody move!” The troops spread into the room, hands tight on their weapons.

Their leader, a captain by his uniform, pulls a small disk out of his vest pocket.

Instantly, a hologram jumps into being in front of him. The projection shows a small man, slightly blued and somehow insubstantial. The man wears an impeccably tailored suit, and the emblem of the Ruling Council overlays his image.

“This is a recording,” the hologram says, inflectionless voice slightly out of sync with the image. “These parties are henceforth bound by the law of the Ruling Council: Daniel Linderman, high treason. Angela Petrelli, high treason. Eric Thompson, conspiracy. Matthew Parkman, conspiracy. Noah Bennet, conspiracy.” The troops step forward. “The parties named will stand down. The Ruling Council retains the right to swear out more warrants related to these charges. Thank you. That is all.” The recording shrinks and vanishes with a small pop.

The captain marches into the center of the room. He stares angrily at the Helix guards.

One by one, they lower their weapons.

The captain nods and turns to Linderman. Bennet stands and backs away a pace.

Linderman looks up at the man, then glances at the gun Bennet had knocked out of his grasp.

The captain follows his gaze, “I wouldn’t do that, sir. We’d like this to go as smoothly as possible.”

Linderman looks around the room; the look of desolation on his face is almost horrible to look at. He turns his head away from the man and struggles to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” the captain says, and claps laser-cuffs around Linderman’s wrists.

The captain gestures to his men; they step forward and cuff Angela and Bennet. One man stoops beside Parkman, still slumped against the far wall, and checks his pulse. Parkman groans faintly and Peter feels a surge of relief that he hadn’t killed the man. The soldier hoists Parkman to his feet and slaps cuffs around his wrists. The troops move toward the shattered door, their prisoners well in hand.

Angela looks back as she is marched out. Her head is held high, face cold and haughty. Her eyes pass over him without really seeing and Peter shudders. She crosses the destroyed threshold and out of Peter’s life.

Bennet’s face contorts as the soldiers drag him, cuffed, from the room. “Claire!” he shouts.

The captain turns and glares at Peter. “You lot stay where you are,” he barks. He motions and several men break off and take up station by the door. The captain favors Peter with a long, accessing look, and follows his men out of the ruined conference room.

Peter finally lets himself relax. He’s tired, so tired. He stands among the wreckage and the dead and feels the adrenaline seep out of him. He feels drained and numb.

Then Nathan turns around and meets his eyes, and it’s almost like coming home. Nathan smiles, and, for a moment, Peter can forget everything he’s seen, everything he’s done in the past few days.

Peter smiles and wraps his arms around his brother. “Nathan!” They stand together, happy to be reunited.

Nathan laughs and squeezes him. “Don’t ever do something like this again, Pete.” They finally draw back, and Nathan’s smile fades. “What happened back there? What you did, what you could do, that—that wasn’t human.”

Peter looks away. “I’ll explain later.”

He turns from his brother towards his lover. “Claude—“

Claude rushes past them, shouldering Peter aside. He drops to his knees next to Claire’s body. “Claire-bear,” Claude whispers and gently closes her clouded eyes.

Peter follows Claude and kneels beside him. Claire was just a kid who should never have been involved in this, and still selflessly saved Nathan’s life. She had such a sad little smile…

Peter touches his hand to her neck and is shocked to feel a pulse.

He can still save her, if he works fast enough. He hasn’t got a medkit—he’ll have to do the best he can with his hands. She’s not breathing, and he worries that it’s been too long, that he can’t bring her back. He starts to administer resuscitation, but he’s stopped by a wet, horribly organic sound. He looks down, and as he watches in shocked horror the scorched hole in Claire’s abdomen starts to close.

With a huge gasp, the girl starts to breathe again. She sits up suddenly, looking surprised to see the concerned faces pointed towards her.

“What?”

\---

The Ruling Council’s representative is sleek and neat. Suit carefully tailored, every hair in place, smooth smile on his lips. Ebony skin and black eyes that reveal nothing about him. Peter doesn’t like him; can’t understand him. The man’s conversation reveals only the necessities and his thoughts are too elusive for Peter to read.

The man, Jacob Nooren, takes their statements calmly and without expression. By the fifth time Peter is asked to repeat his story, he starts to despair that he’ll be lost in the snarls of bureaucracy for the next decade.

They don’t once see the prisoners.

The pieces of their story start to come together: Bennet’s change of heart, Claire’s developing ability, Nathan’s machinations. It’s not necessary, more tying up loose ends than anything else; the Ruling Council already has enough evidence to damn Helix and Linderman many times over.

The problem is Bennet. He is complicit in Linderman’s plot; the evidence implicates him again and again. And the charge of conspiracy means assignment to a reform colony.

Peter can’t let that happen; he’s already harmed one man who tried to help him. He just doesn’t know how to help him.

Surprisingly, it is Claude who comes to Bennet’s rescue.

During one of the interminable questionings, Nooren calls Bennet a “traitor” once too often.

Claude suddenly surges to his feet and plants his fists on the conference table. He glares sharply at Nooren as Peter stares at him in surprise. “Without Bennet, we’d all be dead. He chose to go against his Company to help us out, risked everything to do it.” Claude glances at Peter. “Consider all my testimony revoked till he’s released.”

Peter jumps to his feet. “Mine, too.”

Claude slants a small smile at him and Peter ducks his head, blushing a little.

Nooren blinks once, no emotion on his face. “I’ll consult my superiors,” he says, and leaves the room.

The next day, Bennet is released.

Then, all of a sudden, the red tape ends. Nooren dismisses them all, sends them home to what lives they have left. The Conglomerate troops conclude their operation.

Not knowing where else to go, or what else to do, Peter and Claude follow them to the port building nestled high in the hills. Peter suspects that Claude’s motivation is more to see the troops actually leave than anything else.

Peter isn’t really surprised to find Bennet and Claire there before them. They have far more to fear from the Ruling Council than he or Claude.

Bennet nods amiably at them and Claire smiles her sad smile.

Peter smiles back; Claude ignores them both.

The four of them stand before the enormous steel-glass wall and watch as the Conglomerate leaves their planet. The building shakes and the windows rattle with the boom of VTOL engines as the three ships lift off.

No one moves or speaks until the ships are high in the sky and accelerating out of the atmosphere.

Claude glances sideways. “You owe me for this, Bennet,” he says, turning to face his former partner.

Former lover, Peter thinks with a flash of insight.

Bennet nods. “I know.” He offers his hand to Claude.

Claude stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his hand. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Peter laughs; he can see the smile pulling at the edge of Bennet’s mouth.

Bennet adopts an appropriately penitent expression. “Of course not.” He and his daughter leave, Bennet’s arm wrapped around Claire’s shoulders, heading to the terminal’s doors.

Peter and Claude stand a while longer at the terminal window. They watch the ships until they are nothing but a glint in the bright afternoon sky.

“Ya realize that we just royally fucked our planet?”

Peter drops his head to Claude’s shoulder. “Then we’ll count the world well lost for love.”

Claude glares down at him. “Shut up.”

Peter smiles.


End file.
